Alone
by SVU-Obsessed
Summary: The rape of a university freshman leads the detectives into the lives of students and politics, while the victim causes each member of SVU to see a harsh reality in their lives. Sort of an EO pairing. . . it'll all make sense after the first page.
1. Chapter 1

I can't really explain where this story came from. . . ideas from Closure, Doubt, Confrontation and probably a couple of others definitely helped. I am still writing Ever the Same, but I wanted to get this out while the idea was still strong in my mind. Not quite a shipper fic. . . a more realistic take on what I think would happen if Elliot and Olivia did get together.

As always, all reviews are greatly appreciated and suggestions are more than welcome :). And I don't own anything. :(

* * *

**_Olivia_**

**_Tuesday, December 5th_**

A beeping woke me out of the sleep I had drifted into. My heart pounded as I quickly scanned my bedroom. Phone? No, that wasn't ringing. Buzzer? No. Alarm system? Fire Alarm? Pager. Yes, it sounded like my pager. But louder. There were two of them going off.

Then it all came back to me.

The body beside me stirred, then reached over to stop the beeping on his own pager. Without turning on the lights, I kept the blanket covering me and found my clothes on the floor beside me. I quickly pulled them on and tiptoes into the washroom. I don't know what I was hoping for. That he would somehow forget that he was in my apartment? My bed? That I had just slept with him? I steadied myself by holding onto the sink and took a couple of deep breaths. Once I had calmed myself enough, I washed my face, pulled back my hair, and threw on enough makeup to feel acceptable, and went back into the bedroom. I could handle this in the traditional grown-up way- pretending nothing had ever happened.

"Nineteen year old rape victim," he said without looking up at me. He looped his tie around his neck before continuing. "Mercy hospital. Cragen wants us there now. Munch and Fin are going to check out the crime scene."

"Let's go."

He nodded, then finally he looked up. "Should we talk about this?"

"We both know the case comes first El. We'll deal with our personal lives later."

* * *

"Her name's Christine Webber," the uniform who met us at the hospital informed me. "She's a student at Columbia. She was walking home when she was attacked."

"Who brought her in?"

"Friend of hers. Rick Thomas, a grad student at Columbia."

"He was there when she was attacked?"

"Found her just after the attacker took off. She's in exam four whenever you want to see her, but there's been a backlog tonight. It's going to be awhile."

"Where's her friend?" Elliot asked.

"He's in there with her. Anything else?"

"I'll let you know if there's anything else, thanks." He looked over at me. "Does that sound a little strange? Her friend just happened to be going by after she was attacked?"

I nodded. "I'll talk to her, send him out to talk to you." We got to her room, and I knocked gently before poking my head in, even though the door was open.

"Are you Christine?" I asked.

She nodded. She was a very pretty girl with long brown hair that had been pulled back into a low ponytail. Her brown eyes had a look in them I couldn't quite place. She wasn't sitting on the exam table, but instead was on the chair beside it with her legs pulled into her chest. She was wearing a hospital gown with bags containing her clothing sitting beside her. She had been wearing some kind of suit, and you could still see the makeup she had been wearing. She had been coming from somewhere formal.

"I'm detective Benson," I said, sitting down in the chair closest to her. "I'm really sorry about the delay. How long have you been waiting?"

She looked up at the clock on the wall. "An hour and a half."

"Is there someone I can call for you? A friend maybe?"

She shook her head. "I don't want anyone knowing."

"What about family?"

She shook her head again. "I don't have any."

"In the city, you mean?"

"At all. I, um, I don't have any relatives. Both my parents were only children. My parents died last year."

Immediately I recognized the look I had been in her eyes. She was alone. No family at all. A feeling I had known all too well over the past few years.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "It's not your fault." She looked over at the frosted window, then back at me. "Look, detective, I really appreciate you coming out here, and I'm really sorry if I've cause you any trouble by coming here, but I just want to go home."

"Why did you come here then?" I didn't care about her waking me up or dragging me out here. I didn't want to just let this go. Let her go home, shower, and regret it for the rest of her life.

"When Rick found me, he hailed a cab and brought me. I didn't really know what was going on. I just want to go home. I can't deal with this right now."

"Christine," I said softly, leaning forward and touching her forearm. She flinched and her body tensed up. I took my hand off of her but didn't move back. "I've been doing this for almost ten years now. And I can tell you that if you leave here today, you will regret it."

She shook her head. "I can't have anyone finding out about this."

"No one will know anything that you don't want them to. You've got the control here," I assured her.

"How will it work. . . if I do press charges?"

"We'll do an exam, take your statement, and you get to go on with your life. When we find him, we'll have you come in to ID him, and most likely testify at a trial."

"If."

"If?"

"If you find him. I know the statistics aren't in my favour here."

"Those odds go way up if you stick around for the exam." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I promise, I'll stay with you through the whole thing. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that whoever did this pays for what he did."

"And no one will find out about this?"

"No one that you don't tell."

She looked up at me through her thick eyelashes. "I'll do it."

There was a knock at the door and I expected to find a doctor standing there. Instead there was a twenty-something man standing there with two paper cups.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Christine shook her head. "It's okay." She reached out cautiously for the cup he extended towards her. He was careful not to come to close. When she reached, I could see her arm shaking. She pulled off the top and set it on the table beside her. "Thanks, Rick." She never made eye contact with him.

"I'll, uh, just be in the hall." I looked back at her, who was staring down at her coffee. "Can you walk me through what happened tonight?"

"What. . . exactly do you need to know?"

"We don't have to go into details now," I assured her. "But can you just go over where you were this evening?"

She picked up her cup, held it for a minute, then put it back down. "I had my English class until six. I stayed after to talk to the professor for a little while, so I ended up leaving late. I didn't have time to eat dinner so I picked up a salad from the dining hall and went back to my residence to change."

"Change for what?"

"There was a forum for the future of feminism in the United States. There were a couple of professors, some local politicians, and a couple of activists. It went until. . . I guess about eleven. Afterwards Rick and I and a couple of others decided to go out. We went to, um, Harrigans, it's a couple of blocks from campus. Most people left after a drink, but Rick and I stayed until twelve thirty."

"Were you drinking?"

She nodded. "I had three or four glasses of wine. I didn't think I had had too much. . . I still felt in control."

"Did you feel different after? Sleepy, or like you were moving in slow motion."

She shook her head. "Wait, you think someone. . . someone drugged me?"

"We just have to look at every possibility."

She shook her head again. "No, I felt fine. Rick and I were walking back to my residence when he realized he had forgotten his coat with his key in the pocket back at the bar. He offered to walk me the rest of the way, but the bar would have closed so I told him to go. Campus is safe. They just sent out a report about how their crime rates were the lowest in 15 years. He was gone maybe a minute when someone came up behind me." She put her head in her hands.

"Don't worry, you don't have to talk about that now." She slowly lifted her head and swallowed hard.

"When he was. . . done, he ran off. It was just over like that. Like one second here, next second gone. I wanted to get up, but I was frozen. I was trying to stand up when Rick came back."

"And you came right here?"

She nodded. "And now I've been waiting almost two hours."

"Why don't you get into the bed," I suggested, "and I'll see if I can find you a doctor." She nodded again, but didn't make any move. I slipped out of the room and saw Elliot down the hall talking to Rick. He looked up and I motioned for him to come over.

"How's she doing?" he asked softly.

"She holding it together. Having some doubts about the exam though. I need to get a doctor in here soon."

He nodded. Despite the situation, I was acutely aware of his presence like I had never been before. The smell of him, the bristles that were growing in on his chin, the same ones that had brushed against my skin only hours earlier. I felt my cheeks flame up and I looked away. This was stupid, so incredibly stupid. Not something I should have done. Not something I would have done under normal circumstances.

Not something I could afford to think about while I was working.

"Something she said got me- Rick apparently was gone one minute on either side of the attack."

"You think it could have been him?"

"I don't know, it just doesn't seem right to me. Why did he come back?"

Elliot nodded. "I'll see if he can account for his whereabouts." He looked behind me. "You've got your doctor." I turned around to see a male doctor entering her room. I followed him in and I saw Christine nervously clutching the side of the exam table.

"I'm doctor MacDonald," he said formally to both of us. Christine looked up at him, then over at me fearfully.

"Hold on, this is sexual assault exam," I told him.

He nodded and took a seat on the stool that sat at the bottom of the bed. "Could you put the table up please?"

"No, there should be a female physician doing the exam."

"Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but we're a little short-handed tonight. We only have one female attending on duty and she's in the middle of trying to save a six-year-old who's been shot. So you can wait for her, or you can take me now."

I was prepared to argue about it, but Christine's voice came out in an almost desperate tone. "It's fine. Just get it over with, please."

Looking at her lying there made me want to cry, not something I normally felt at an exam. I nodded, pushed the bed up so she was sitting almost upright, and took a seat right beside her.

"I'll be here the whole time," I assured her. She nodded again, and told me she'd be fine on her own. She followed silently as the doctor swabbed her mouth, took scrapings from underneath her nails, drew blood, and photographed the relatively minor cuts and bruises that covered her body. But the second he started the internal exam, she winced loudly in pain and grabbed my hand hard. She didn't cry.

* * *

"I can take you back home now," I offered after the exam was over. The hospital had given her a pair of scrubs to wear home.

She shook her head. "I want to get it over with now."

I nodded, and followed her out of the room, one unsteady step after another. The first of so many steps in a road longer than I was willing to admit to her.

And she faltered. But she didn't fall.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for all the reviews :). All the E/O stuff will be explained eventually, I promise.

* * *

__Elliot_

It wasn't until the doctor had finally gone in that I sat down to really talk to Rick. He was a tall guy, dressed in khakis and a dress shirt. He looked too smooth. I already didn't like him.

"Is Christine okay?" he asked as we sat down in the empty waiting lounge.

I shrugged. "We won't know anything until after she's examined. So, you were the one who found her?"

He nodded. "I didn't know what to do. I just brought her here."

"You just happened to be coming by as soon as the attacker was gone?"

"I heard someone scream. It didn't even sound like Christine but I went to check on it anyways. I got there and she was just lying on the sidewalk."

"Did you see anyone when you were going towards her?"

"I bumped into a group of drunken freshmen but I didn't think they were even coming from the same way."

"You didn't see anyone trying to get away? Keeping their face down?"

He thought about it. "Not that I can remember."

"Why did you think it was Christine that screamed?"

"I had just been out with her, I guess she was the first person that came to mind."

I looked up from the notes I was half-assedly writing down. "Are you and Christine dating?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. She's in first year, and I'm a grad student and TA. I could get in trouble for dating her."

"You're a grad student?"

"Criminology. I'm working on my dissertation."

"That makes you how old?"

"Twenty-seven."

Criminology. Damn. That would make it harder to get him to slip up. "Where we you two this evening?"

"There was forum at the University Centre, and we went out for drinks later."

"You let her go back alone?"

"I was walking her back when I realized I had forgotten my jacket and keys. I offered to walk her the rest of the way back, but she said she's be fine. The bar was about to close, I wouldn't have been able to get into my apartment."

"So you let her walk back alone?"

"You think I don't know how stupid that is? I have four younger sisters. I would _never_ do anything I thought would put them in any danger, and I feel the same way about Christine. I was an idiot, okay? I had had a lot to drink, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Detective?" a voice came from behind me. I turned to find the doctor standing behind me with the rape kit tucked under one arm.

I looked back at Rick. "Stay here." I followed the doctor across the hall, well out of earshot.

"How is she?"

"She's shaken up, but had almost no injuries. Her thighs are bruised, she had a torn hymen, and swelling. Evidence of vaginal trauma."

"Fluids?"

"Yeah. I'm sending them down to the lab. I'll put a rush on it so we can get it back before everyone leaves for Christmas."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything else? My shift ended half an hour ago."

"No, thank you." Behind me the door opened and Liv slipped out.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"She was raped." No matter how long I had been doing this job, there was still something so unsettling about the phrase. I could handle _killed_, but _raped_ seemed so much heavier.

"The friend give anything up?"

"Nothing. Still not convinced he didn't do it though. He's doing his PhD in criminology. He knows how to play us."

"Do you think he is?"

"I think he's hiding something. Is she doing okay?"

"Yeah. She's changing, she wants to give her statement tonight."

I nodded. I trust my voice to say anything else. Her face was leaned in towards mine, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, her skin. Looking at her jacket I remember slipping it off of her shoulders. I blinked hard and snapped myself out of it. I couldn't be thinking about that.

God, she was beautiful.

"Liv," I began, not quite sure what I was going to say.

"Don't," she replied quickly. "Not now."

"Are you just going to pretend that it didn't happen?"

"I told you that we'll deal with it when we can. Not now."

I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed with what she said. Yes, we needed to talk about what had happened, but after everything that had happened between us over the past year, I didn't know what would come of it.

The door opened and Christine came out wearing a pair of blue scrubs.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Liv asked her. "We can take you home, let you get some sleep."

She shook her head. "I want to get this over with." She looked behind me and I turned around- Rick was coming towards us.

"You didn't have to wait," she said softly.

"I wanted to. Are you okay?"

She nodded, keeping her head down. "Do you want me to take you back?"

"Actually, she's coming back to the police station with us," Liv told him.

"Do you want me to come?"

"It would be better if you didn't," I told him. I wanted the kid gone. I wanted to hear what she had to say without him around.

He nodded. "If you think that's best. Um, is there anything I can do?" He looked over at Christine. "Can I get anything for you? Call someone?"

She shook her head. She still couldn't make eye contact with him.

"Okay. Thank you, detectives. Christine, call me if you need anything, okay?"

She finally looked up at him. She didn't look scared like I had expected her to. . . she looked sad, I guess. I couldn't quite figure out what it was. "I will," she said in an almost-whisper.

He nodded again, took off his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders, very careful not to get to close, to touch her, or to crowd her. He looked like he was performing surgery. "It's cold out."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. Or tried to, at least. It was probably all that she could muster up at this point. She held the jacket tightly around her and I led her out to the car.

* * *

"Can I get you something to drink?" I offered once we had gotten into the interview room. She shook her head. It looked like it took an enormous amount of effort. "Coffee?" I offered Liv.

"Please." I slipped out and started the coffee maker, then went to watch them from Cragen's one-way mirror. Though her eyes had brown circles beneath them, they weren't red- she hadn't been crying. I had seen a lot of stranger rape, a little less date rape, and each of the victims seemed to have a certain behaviour about them. I was looking for something- anything- to tell me that it was Rick who had attacked her. But she didn't act like either of the stereotypes I had set in my head. I sighed, picked up two coffee mugs, filled them, and brought them in.

She filled in the details of the attack for us. She managed to remain fairly composed throughout the whole thing. She had to stop from time to time, but never once shed a tear.

"Did you notice anyone watching you?" I asked her once she was done. "Someone at the bar maybe?"

"I was out with Rick. There's always girls watching him. I don't even pay attention anymore."

"Have you two been friends for awhile?"

"Yeah, basically since I started here."

"He mentioned he's a grad student. How do you know him?"

"Young Democrats on campus. We're both really involved."

"And are you two dating?"

She shook her head. "He's got a bunch of younger sisters. I think he just thought of me as one of them."

Liv learned forward. "Can you describe him?"

She closed her eyes. "I think he was my height." She opened her eyes. "When he pushed me into the wall, he pressed against me. He didn't seem much taller." The colour was starting to drain from her face.

"What about hair colour? Eye colour?"

"Dark, I think. I didn't see is eye colour. It was too dark."

"What about what he was wearing?"

She closed her eyes again. "I didn't see much. He wasn't wearing a jacket though. A sweater maybe?" She opened her eyes again. "His pants. . . there was no zipper or button on them. Sweatpants, maybe?" I was astonished at the calm she was keeping, then noticed she was digging her nails into her hand.

"Did he say anything?"

"He told me not to scream, that he wouldn't hurt me if I didn't try to fight him. I offered him my purse, my jewelry, but he didn't want it. He said the only thing he wanted was me." She was shaking now. "Could you excuse me for a minute?" Liv nodded. Christine stood up shakily, but only made it as far as the garbage can in the corner and threw up. I sprang into dad mode and went to get her a bottle of water. When I got back, she was sitting on the floor beside the garbage with Liv crouched down beside her. I opened the bottle and handed it to her, then pulled out the garbage bag and knotted the top.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, for the first time looking like she might cry.

"It's okay," Liv assured her. "It's a common reaction to the morning after pill." She put her hand on Christine's shoulder, and Christine quickly flinched. She looked up at both of us with her big brown eyes, and a look I had come to know all too well washed over her. She realized what was happening was real. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"It's okay," Liv assured her again, then offered her hand to help her up. She looked at it apprehensively, then slowly took it and stood up.

* * *

It was well after four by the time we finally left the station. While we drove her back to her residence, I kept looking at her in the mirror with her head against the window. She looked out, an empty gaze on her face. We arrived at her dorm, passing by the crime scene that had been cornered off, and Liv got out with her.

"This is the number for victims services," she said, handing her the business card that she always kept in her wallet. She pulled out a pen and scribbled something on another card. "This is my card, my cell number's on the back. Call me if you need anything."

She nodded. I was almost positive she would never use it. "Do you want me to walk you up?"

She shook her head. "I'd have to sign you in. It's too much of a hassle. I just need to be alone."

Liv nodded and walked her to the door. She waited until she had disappeared, then came back into the car.

"Should you have done that?"

"Done what?"

"Given her your cell number?"

"She doesn't have anyone, Elliot. You would have done the same thing. Look, we're not going to get anywhere with this until the morning, Munch and Fin are probably done with the crime scene, why don't we try and grab a couple of hours of sleep?"

I nodded and headed back to the station. I was exhausted, and sleep seemed like a good idea. We got back, I scribbled a note for Cragen telling him where we were, then I headed after Liv into the crib.

And of course, despite my exhaustion, I couldn't sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out- I've been putting my creative energies into making fan videos lately. Thank you to everyone who has read or submitted a review- I really appreciate it!!

* * *

_

_Rick Thomas_

I watched Christine walk out with the detectives before finally getting up and leaving. Instead of calling a cab, which would have been easy to get at three in the morning, I opted to walk. It wasn't that far, and I needed the walk to try and unwind. To try and forget. To try and keep myself from destroying something. The night air was much colder now, but the air was still. I folded my arms, tucking my hands in under them, and set out towards my apartment.

The night had been too much. The irony was too much. . . she had been out listen to some of the top political and academic voices talk about the role of women and the equalization of their status, only to have to deal with what feminists have been fighting since the beginning of time.

There was no justice in this world.

Before I knew what was happening, I was opening the door to my apartment building. I mindlessly punched in my passcode and went in. I opted for the eight story hike up the stairs rather than the elevator.

What shocked me when I reached my apartment was that everything looked so normal. So ordinary. No one would ever know what had happened tonight just by looking around. The morning paper was still scattered on my couch. My coffee maker was still dirty. My laptop was still where I had forgotten it in the morning. I tossed my keys down on the counter and went to the fridge to take out a beer. I closed the fridge door then opened it again and pulled out three more. I had never needed a drink so badly in my life, and I didn't want to have to keep getting up to get more.

I flopped down on the sofa and opened the first. The cop suspected me. There was no question in my mind of that. I didn't care. I deserved it.

Guilt was consuming me. Already. I thought it would have taken longer. I started drinking the beer faster, trying so hard to forget. Numbness would be welcome at any point. I was starting to feel physically sick.

What the hell had I done?

The detectives would be around soon. They would have more questions, want an alibi.

And why shouldn't they?

I'm guilty as all hell.

* * *

_Olivia_

"Morning sleeping beauty," a voice greeted me what could only be minutes after I fell asleep.

My eyes sprang open and I found myself face-to-face with Munch, in his usual wake-up fashion, morning breath and all. Out of habit, I took a swing at him. Unfortunately, he knew me too well and managed to duck, sending my knuckle into the mattress. I groaned.

"Couldn't you have woken Elliot up first?" The sound of Elliot threatening Munch's life was easier to wake up to than this.

"Elliot was up before we got here." I looked over at the bunk he had occupied when we had gone to bed only a couple of hours before. Munch offered a fresh mug of coffee. "Peace offering."

I sat up, took it from him, and tried to collect my thoughts. "What did you find?"

"Well, while you were getting your beauty rest, Fin and I were out scouring the crime scene."

"And?"

"A possible footprint, some blood, evidence of a struggle. Oh, and a mitt. Did the victim have mitts with her?"

I shook my head, downing the coffee. "Not that I can remember."

"So it could belong to the perp, could belong to the victim, or could belong to one of the tens of thousands of students. You look pretty."

I rolled my eyes and resisted the temptation to smooth down my hair. "Give me ten minutes to change." I finished my coffee, crawled out of bed, and headed towards the change room.

* * *

I had just finished reviewing the files that had been left on my desk earlier in the morning when Cragen emerged from his office. "What have we got?"

"Christine Webber, 19, student at Columbia. She was coming home from a bar last night when our perp grabbed her."

"She was out alone at night?"

"She had been out with a friend," Elliot told him. "He was walking her home, then conveniently left the victim a minute before she was attacked. He came back just after the attacker ran off."

"Who is he?"

"Rick Thomas, age 27," I told them, pulling out the picture DMV had sent over from his driver's license. Elliot took the picture from me and passed it to Fin. "He's not in the system. Grew up in Washington, moved here eight years ago for school. He's working on his PhD in Criminology at Columbia."

Cragen took the picture and put it up on the board, along with the pictures of Christine from the night before. I continued. "She was wearing Tiffany diamond earrings when we got to the hospital. No robbery." I got up and pointed out the marks in the pictures. "He didn't appear to have caused any injuries other than when she fell and a couple of bruises that can be attributed to her struggling on the ground. He wasn't trying to hurt her. I think this was personal."

"Can Rick account for where he was?" Fin asked.

"He says he went back to the bar they were at to get his jacket before they closed. We didn't get a chance to check for witnesses last night," Elliot responded.

"You think it was him?" Cragen asked.

"I have no reason not to."

"What do we know about the victim?"

"Her school file doesn't list any problems other than participating in a protest that got out of control earlier in the semester. Long list of extra-curriculars, volunteers in Senator Adam Martin's office. She grew up in Vermont, no criminal record. Her parents were killed fifteen months ago in a plane crash coming home from Barbados. No other living relatives. Her father ran a mid-sized insurance firm, everything went to Christine in trusts. All told, almost 10 million."

"Okay, I want you two to swing by her place this morning, see how she's doing. Results from her rape kit back?"

"Doctor confirmed bruising, fluids and a torn hymen at the hospital. He put a rush on the DNA but the lab's been backed up for weeks. Her tox screen came back negative for drugs, blood alcohol of 0.04."

"Munch, Fin, go to the lab, see if you can't put a rush on the DNA- if we don't get it by the end of the week we won't see it until after the holidays. I want you to go back and canvass the bar, see if anyone saw Rick If he still looks good, go talk to him but don't pick him up until he have something more substantial. Then look for open cases that match the MO and other complains around Columbia. Benson, Stabler, when you're done with Christine, hit the university and talk to her professors. Try to avoid the Senator's office if you can, we don't need politicians getting involved in the case. I don't need to remind you that we need to tread lightly here. The university has offered us full cooperation on this. Get on it."

* * *

_Fin_

There was a shuffling inside after the second time I pounded on the door. I heard locks being unlocked, then the door finally opened.

"Can I help you?" the twenty-something guy that opened the door asked. He looked terrible. Wearing clothes probably from the day before, dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a mess.

"Police," Munch said, holding up his shield. "Detectives Munch, Tutuola."

"Come on in," he said, stepping aside. The studio apartment was small but fairly clean for a student. There were beer bottles scattered all over the counter, and he quickly pulled them out of the way.

"What can I do for you detectives?" he asked, fumbling around with a coffee filter.

"We understand you were with Christine Webber last night," Munch said in his annoying matter-of-fact-tone.

"Yeah. I was the one who brought her to the hospital."

"You had been with her earlier in the evening?"

"Yeah, he had gone out to a forum, then to a bar."

"What was the forum on?"

"Feminism."

We exchanged glances. "Are you and Christine dating?"

"No."

"Then what were you doing at a forum on feminism?" I asked, trying not to smile.

"I'm a political junkie, rumour was that Senator Rodham-Clinton was going to come out to it. So I went with Christine. She works in Senator Martin's office, and he was speaking there."

"And you went out after the forum?"

"Yeah, to a bar called Harrigans, it's barely five minutes from campus."

"Christine's only nineteen."

He put down the mug he had pulled out of his cupboard. "Are you really going to bust me for her drinking?"

"No. But I do wonder why you were going out drinking with Christine when you're eight years older than her."

"Look, Christine and I don't have any family. Mine's on the other side of the country, and hers is all dead. We're both involved with the Young Democrats and we have a lot in common. She's mature, and she's incredibly intelligent. Anyone who's spent any time with her knows that. And yes, she's gorgeous. I'm not trying to deny that. But she and I weren't dating, and I wasn't trying to seduce her. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Can anybody account for your whereabouts during the rape?"

"Probably not. It was late, I didn't see anyone I knew. Everyone at the bar was pretty drunk when we left. What do you want me to do to convince you that I'm innocent?"

"Will you consent to a DNA test?"

"Name the time and place."

"We'll be in touch with it," Munch promised, and we saw ourselves out.

"We'll be in touch?" I asked him.

"Guilty men don't offer up DNA. We don't have the DNA back from the lab yet, and if it turns out that the DNA was in the system, we're going to have one police plaza on our ass again about using department resources."

"So we should just let him go until then?"

"I don't like it, but what choice do we have?"

I shook my head, "Come on, let's see what the lab came up with."

* * *

"Where's Melinda?" I asked when we got to the lab. There was her little assistant cutting up a dead body on her usual table.

"Early Christmas vacation. Went with her family to the Dominican Republic. She'll be back next week."

"Must be nice to be her," Munch muttered.

"What can I do for you, detectives?" the assistant asked, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. "I didn't know you had a victim in the morgue."

"We don't. We were hoping that she might be able to rush a DNA test for us."

"Why the hurry?"

"High profile case."

His shoulders sagged. "Give me the name. I'll see what I can do. But no promises."

* * *

"Did you talk to the friend?" Cragen asked when we got back.

"He offered up a DNA sample," Munch answered. "But he sounds like he's hiding something."

"And did the lab come back with anything?"

"Warner's away, her assistant said he'd try and rush it."

"Okay. Open case files just arrived, the boxes are upstairs. Find me something to go on."

* * *

_Elliot_

"Can I help you?" A tall girl with blonde and purple hair asked, opening the door to the suite where Christine was listed as living.

"I'm looking for Christine Webber," Liv told her.

She nodded, and turned around, motioning for us to come in. "Police officers?" she asked, leading us into an L-shaped bedroom.

"How'd you know that?"

She sighed and sat down on her bed, then picked up a stuffed pig and absently held it to her chest. "She didn't come home until after I went to bed at three last night. She's never done that before. I woke up at five and found a pair of hospital scrubs on the floor. She was in the shower. I woke up again at six and she was still in the shower. I had an early class, and came back two hours ago. I put two and two together. She's been throwing up every half hour."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"Not about being raped." I was surprised at her bluntness. "And I'm not going to ask her about it if she doesn't want to say anything."

"Where is she now?"

"Washroom. End of the hall." She continued saying something to Olivia, but I got up and went down the couple of feet to the end of the suite's hallway.

"Christine?" I asked, softly knocking at the door. It was slightly ajar. "It's Detective Stabler." The toilet flushed, and the door opened. She was sitting beside the toilet with her head in her hands. Her face was pale, and her hair was wet.

"Hi," she said softly, lifting her head. She lifted herself up by grasping on the sink and splashed water on her face. She steadied herself by leaning against the sink, then turned back to me. "Did you have more questions?"

I shook my head. "We just wanted to see how you're doing."

She nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it. I'm okay though."

"You don't look okay."

She shrugged. "It's just the morning after pill." She waited a minute, then headed back towards her room. I followed her. Her roommate was gone, leaving just Olivia waiting for her. She took a seat at her desk, took a slow sip of water, then turned towards Liv and I.

"Thank you for your support last night," she said to both of us. "I don't think I would have been able to do it otherwise."

"You don't have to thank us for that," Liv told her.

"I, um, I remembered something else about him. He was wearing a wedding ring. Plain band. I think it was gold."

I took my notepad out and scribbled it down. "Is there anything else we can do for you Christine? I know finals are coming up. If you need time off from classes or extensions-"

She shook her head. "No, I don't want any special treatment. I want to get on with my life."

I nodded. "We'll get out of your way then."

"Thank you for coming by." She stood up to walk out with Liv and I. As I walked past her desk, I saw that out-of-order on the perfectly tidy desk was Liv's business card tucked slightly behind the mousepad. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my own, scribbled my own cell number on the back, tucked it beside Liv's, then hurried to catch up with them.


	4. Chapter 4

_Olivia_

_Wednesday, December 6th_

I hadn't been able to sleep almost the entire night.

I had gotten home, gone for a run, a longer run than I normally go for. I got home, completely exhausted, showered, and had intended to order in Chinese but ended up falling asleep on the couch.

I woke up at one, and it was clear that I wasn't going to sleep anymore. I got up and nearly stepped on the broken wine glass I had somehow managed to forget about. The wine glass that had started everything. The one that had fallen, and shattered, and that had set off the motions of the night before. The wine glass that had changed everything.

I cleaned it up, then braved going into my bedroom. He had made the bed. Something about that gesture shook me to my core. I mean, we were partners, we were best friends, we knew things about each other that no one else probably ever would. We saw things that no one should see, and there was a very intimate relationship that came out of that. But somehow we had transcended the line between best friends and lovers, which shouldn't have happened. There were things about me now that he knew that he wasn't supposed to. He shouldn't have known what my lipstick tasted like, or how my mind went blank when he kissed my neck. I wasn't supposed to know that he tilted his head towards the left when he kissed, or how it felt to have him run his fingers through my hair. These tiny, intimate details that even the closest of partners wouldn't know about each other now were burned in the back of my mind, racing back with an intensity that made head spin.

I knew I needed to change my sheets. I pulled them off, trying to stay detached, but I could smell him. The scent was dizzying.

What had I done?

Needless to say, I was at work early. I was catching up on some paperwork when Elliot walked in with two coffees. I took it from him and watched him hang up his jacket and sit down across from me.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep."

I felt unsettled by the way he knew me. There was something about the way he knew me better than I knew myself that just terrified me. I found myself watching him a little too long, a little too closely. He was doing the same. We both quickly broke it off when we realized it. My heart pounded, like I had been caught doing something that I shouldn't have been doing.

"I've, uh, I've got some files to review. I'll be upstairs if you need anything."

* * *

_Elliot_

_Thursday, December 7th_

"How did things go at trial yesterday?" Cragen asked.

"Not good," I answered, not looking up from the reports I was reading. "Witness froze on the stand. We'll be lucky to get the rape conviction; the man two's never going to happen. Liv, can you pass me the lab report on the Webber case?"

She passed it to me and Cragen gave me a curious look. "Something to share with the rest of the class?"

"I think so. Listen to this. I ran Rick Thomas's-"

"The friend who brought her in?" he asked.

"Yeah. I ran his financial records, and the guy is drowning in student debt."

"He's a grad student. That's hardly uncommon." Liv pointed out.

"True, but wait. A day before Christine's attack, he had $10 000 deposited into his account by a man named Chris Eaton. Now, I checked this against the fingerprints found at the scene. The lab sent over anyone who was in the system, and guess whose fingerprints were at the scene?"

"Chris Eaton."

"Exactly."

"What was he in for?" Liv asked.

"He had a '96 conviction for involuntary manslaughter and assault. He pled out, was sentenced to 10 years, only served three. There are also two dropped rape charges by girls around Christine's age."

"You're thinking her friend got paid off to get her in place at a certain time so that he could attack her?" Cragen clarified.

"Her friend's hiding something. I guarantee you that."

"I don't know, Elliot. She was pretty adamant that he could have never done anything like that."

"Still, it's your best lead. Munch, Fin, I want you to go find this guy, see if he has an alibi. If he still looks good, I want you to bring both of them in."

* * *

_Munch_

_Friday December 8th_

"Explain something to me," I told Fin as we stepped onto the elevator in Chris Eaton's apartment building. "How does scum like Eaton live in a nice neighbourhood while us good guys are stuck in cracker jack boxes for shelter?"

Fin just rolled his eyes. After six years with me, he had become indifferent to anything I had to say. We stepped out of the elevator, found his apartment, and knocked. A beautiful brown-haired woman opened the door. Fin turned to me. "That's how."

"Excuse me?" the woman asked.

"We're looking for Chris Eaton."

"And you are?" she asked politely.

"Police," Fin said, holding out his badge.

Her eyes went slightly wide, but stepped aside to let us in and closed the door behind us. "I'll just get him for you."

As soon as she left, I turned to Fin. "Is it just me, or could she pass for a 30-year-old version of Christine Webber?"

"Did you see the pictures of the other two dropped rape complaints? They could all be sisters. He's definitely got a type."

Chris came into the entranceway. He was younger than I had expected, just over thirty maybe. He was clean-cut, well-dressed. "Can I help you?" He turned to look at Fin, and I noticed that he had a fading black eye.

"Detectives Munch, Tutuola. Can you account for your whereabouts between ten and midnight Monday night?"

He barely blinked. "May I ask what this is regarding?"

"Rape," Fin blurted out, louder than necessary. I managed not to smirk.

"I was at work."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"Probably not, I'm self-employed. Who was raped?"

I ignored his question. "Do you know a Rick Thomas?"

He thought for a second, his eyes going wide. "He. . . he did some work for me in the summer."

"And you're still paying him for it?"

He looked us over closely. "Do I need a lawyer here?"

"Nah," Fin said casually. "We're just shooting the breeze. If you don't have anything to hide, we can get this all sorted out right now and leave alone."

He looked us over again. "I think I'd like to talk to my lawyer."

"Tell you what," I said as nicely as I could. "Why don't you and your lawyer come down to SVU tomorrow morning and we can get this all sorted out."

"No, no," he insisted. "Give me two minutes, and I'll come with you." He went back down the hall to his bedroom, and reemerged with his coat and the woman who had answered his door.

"Let's go," he told us icily.

"You're not going to call your lawyer?"

"That would be me," the woman replied.

* * *

"I told you, my client's not going to answer anymore questions," Meredith Eaton, Chris's wife and lawyer repeated.

Fin sat down across from her. "You really want to let him get off on this?"

"He's not getting off on anything if he didn't commit any crime to begin with. And I have yet to see any proof that he did."

"Do you know what your husband's done in the past?" he asked her. He opened the file while Chris remained slumped in his chair. "Have you seen his criminal record?"

"Involuntary manslaughter, Detective. I don't condone it, but he served his time."

"I'm not talking about the manslaughter."

"Really? What other crimes has he been convicted of?"

"You're wasting your breath," Chris muttered.

Fin shook his head and opened the file. He pulled out three pictures. "See her? This is Alyssa Johnson. She was the girlfriend of the man your _husband_ killed. They got into a bar fight when he wouldn't leave her alone." He laid a second picture down. "This is Maggie Arnold. Your _husband_ was accused of raping her, when she was threatened by her attacker and dropped the complaint." He lay down the third picture. "This Norah Gibbard. She also accused your _husband _of rape and also dropped the complaint when she was threatened. Are you starting to see a pattern here?" He pulled one final picture of Christine. "And this is Christine Webber. She was raped Monday night and your husband's fingerprints just happened to show up at the crime scene. Now I'm going to take a guess and say that if we pulled out your law school yearbook we would find your picture similar enough to all three of these girls that you could all be mistaken for one another. So you make a decision now." He was starting to get annoyed, raising his voice. "Are you going to sit here and defend this asshole and hope that he's grown out of this by the time the baby in your belly starts to look like you, or are you going to stop him?"

Her mouth fell open. I glanced up at him, surprised. Chris's eyes went so wide I wondered whether they would close again. I heard a knock at the door, and I knew Cragen was standing there, less than impressed. Fin held Meredith's gaze, ignoring the knocking.

"Don't look so surprised, you haven't taken your hand off of your stomach since you came in here. Of course we could tell."

She stared at him, then at Chris, and then when I expected her to start defending him, her face cracked. "I can't do this now." She stood up and swiftly walked out of the room. Chris looked up and glared at Fin.

"I didn't rape anyone. I love my wife."

"Of course you do. Now just tell us who saw you Monday night and we'll leave you alone."

"I told you. No one. I was at work."

I sat down. "Then we've got a problem, Chris."

* * *

_Elliot_

"We appreciate you coming down here like this," I said to Rick, placing a mug of coffee in front of him. "We just have some more questions we could use your help with."

"Anything I can do." He took a sip of his coffee and looked down. "Have you, uh, have you seen Christine?"

I nodded. "Why?"

"I was just wondering how she's doing."

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Liv asked, leaning in towards him.

He shook his head. "I don't want to upset her."

I didn't press any further. "You said you left your jacket at the pub on Monday night and went back when she was attacked, right?"

"Yeah."

"You sure about that?"

"Of course."

"Well, we went back to the bar, and we can't find any security footage of you going back or anyone who saw you."

"I. . . don't know what to tell you about that."

"Do you know a man named Chris Eaton?" Liv asked casually?

Rick's jaw tightened. "Yeah. What does he have to do with this?"

"His name just came up in the investigation. How do you know him?"

"I worked for him during the summer."

"Doing what?"

"Construction. It's not exactly helping with my degree but it pays the bills."

"Yeah, we noticed you're having some trouble with that," she said, pulling out his financial records.

He looked at them. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Chris," she said softly, kindly. Deceptively. "If you worked for him in the summer, why did he pay you ten thousand dollars earlier this week?"

His face went blank. "What?"

"We know you deposited a check from him."

"Yeah, but what does this have to do with anything?"

"Can you answer the question?" I asked him.

"It was back payment for what he owed me from the summer. He went into debt, couldn't pay me on time. What's going on?"

"Do you know what he would be doing at the university?"

"No, why?"

"Well, we found his fingerprints at the crime scene, and you're the only common thread."

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

"You're a smart guy Rick. You're in criminology. You know that if you set up for Christine to get raped, you're just as guilty as he is."

"What?!" He went silent for a minute. "No. No way. No. I didn't do anything like that."

"If you tell us now, we can try and go easy on you," Liv said in that same voice. "You're in over your head. I know that can make you do crazy things-"

"No!" he said loudly, banging his fist against the table. He took a couple of deep breaths. "You've got it all wrong."

"Then explain it to us."

He sighed. "Christine doesn't like to depend on people. She doesn't like making attachments. I'm the closest she allows to her. And I know that it wouldn't be fair to her to try and change that."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look, I fell for her, hard. I didn't mean to, I just kind of looked up and it happened. And I didn't want to act on it, but I had been drinking and I knew that . . . I forgot my jacket on purpose."

"Why?"

"Because I would have walked her home, and if I had done that, I would have walked her in. And if I had walked her in, I would have kissed her. And I didn't want to do it. Okay? God, do you have any idea how sick it makes me to know that this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't done this? Do you have any idea how guilty I feel about this? What happened is my fault, I get that. But I didn't set her up, and I sure as hell didn't attack her."

* * *

"Did Eaton give anything up?" I asked Fin.

"Nothing. He offered a DNA sample though. What about Rick?"

I shook my head. "He's not going anywhere."

"You still think he's involved?" Liv asked.

I shrugged. "No." I looked at my watch and sighed. "Look, why don't we call it a night and see if we can get somewhere on Monday."

We all agreed, and started to gather our things for the weekend. I knew what I had to do, no matter how much I didn't want to. I went over to Liv at her locker, with my heart pounding.

"Liv," I said softly.

She looked up at me with those big brown eyes. "What?"

"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"El-" she began, then faltered. She slammed her door and pursed her lips. "Okay."

* * *

_Fin_

"Remind me again why I offered to drive you home?" I asked, annoyed that after two hours at the bar, Munch announced that he had forgotten his keys and had to go back to the precinct.

"Because it's Friday night and you don't have a date."

"How do you know that?"

He lowered his glasses and smirked. "Because you offered to drive me home."

"Just hurry up. I don't want to get stuck here all night." We were halfway to the door when we ran straight into Cragen.

"Don't you ever leave?" Munch asked.

"Maybe next year. I'd glad you're here thought." I glared at Munch. "I just got a call from Dr. MacDonald at Mercy hospital. He remembered Christine from the other night."

"Okay. What does that have to do with us."

"She's in the ER after supposedly falling on the ice."

"And he doesn't believe her?"

"He thinks she's been attacked again." He handed me a paper with the contact information. "Go."


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks everyone for your patience and reviews:) I really appreciate it.

* * *

_Munch_

"Detectives," the doctor we were directed to greeted us, nodding his head in recognition.

"Look, it's doctor McAngry." I had dealt with this doctor once before, when he blew up at the victim he was supposed to be examining.

Fin shot me a look. "I never took you as the Grey's Anatomy type."

"The what?"

He shook his head and turned back to the doctor. "You rang?"

He nodded and started down the hall, leading us to an empty corner. "I was on duty on Monday night when Christine Webber was brought in."

"And you couldn't think of a better time to talk to us about it?" Fin asked.

"I called you because she came in again two hours ago with a head injury and concussion. She claimed it was from a fall. I tried to examine her, and she freaked out."

"Flashbacks?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I think she was attacked again. She refuses to change, there's blood on her pants, and her story's been inconsistent. It doesn't look like she fell."

"Did you ask her?"

"She denied anything happened."

"So what do you think we can do?"

* * *

"Christine?" I asked, pulling back the curtain of the cubicle the nurses station had directed us to. Despite having been working on her case, this was the first time I was seeing her face to face. She looked up at us, then quickly fixed her eyes on a spot behind my head. She was wearing the requisite hospital gown, but had a pair of jeans on underneath. There was a large gash in her forehead that looked like it had been recently stitched up.

"Who are you?" she asked with a waver in her voice, so slight it was almost imperceptible.

"I'm Det. John Munch, this is my partner Fin Tutuola."

She cocked her head to the side. "I think you've got the wrong person. I'm here because I slipped in my dorm."

"Christine," Fin said softly, taking a seat on the end of her bed. "Do you know which unit we're from?"

She wouldn't look him in the eye. She was grasping the side of the bed tightly, her knuckles snow white. "No."

"Special Victims Unit. We're the other two detectives who have been working on your case."

"You came to ask me more questions about Monday night?"

"No," I told her in a tone I hoped came out gently. "About tonight."

"I told you, I slipped in my dorm. There are tiles in the hallways, and the snow's getting tracked in and the floors are slippery. I'm a klutz. It's that simple. Who called you?"

"I did," the doctor announced from behind me.

"But I told you there was no reason to." He, Fin and I all exchanged glances.

The doctor pulled up the stool that sat at the foot of the bed and sat down to he was eye-level with her. "And I told you I don't believe you."

She shook her head. "I'm going home."

"I can't let you go until you let me examine you."

"For what?!"

"Your leg is covered in blood. I might need to stitch it up. You can keep the gown on, I just need you to take off your pants."

"No," she said urgently, flinching violently. Exaggerated startle response. I had seen it too many times before.

In that moment I realized that I hated my job more than anything. I hated that I could look at Christine and know what had happened to her. I hated that I knew when she went home she would shower and burn her clothes. I hated that none of us had been able to stop this from happening to her the first time, and that we hadn't done anything to stop it again.

"Please," she asked softly. "Please just let me leave."

"Christine, I know this is difficult," the doctor started.

"You don't know a thing." She was angry now, her voice quavering while she tried to keep her temper under control. "None of you here possibly can."

I felt at a loss of words. Luckily, Fin stepped in. "You're right. None of us could know what you're going through. We don't know what it's like. All we can do is try and find the bastard who did this to you and make sure he never does it again to you or anyone else."

There was a softer side on Fin that I didn't usually get to see coming out. Right or wrong, Benson and Stabler were the ones that the victims wanted to see. A woman who could empathize, a strong father figure. It was easier to send us to crime scenes and morgues. And most of the time, I liked it better that way.

"I tried that before. And look where it got me."

He was quiet for a minute. "You're saying the same person attacked you tonight?"

She exhaled, then pulled her knees up to her chest. She buried her head in her hands and her hair fell out of the way of her neck, exposing newly-formed finger-sized black and blue bruises. She lifted her head, pulled her hair back from her face and looked at each of us, then stood up and reached for her clothes.

"I can't do this again." She brushed past me, and tried to open the bathroom door, but Fin had planted himself firmly in front of it with his arms folded over his chest. Not in an intimidating way, but more of a I'm-not-taking-any-bullshit way.

"Fine. We let you go home. You shower away any evidence. But you're just going to let yourself go without being checked out? You're no idiot, you know what you're at risk for if you don't get the exam. And what about getting pregnant? Or HIV? You may not want to deal with this now, but you're sure as hell not going to want to deal with this whenever one of your tests come back positive. And I'm not okay with letting you put all that on the line."

She looked up at him with her big brown eyes blazing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because this asshole's attacked you _twice_. Now I don't know about you, but I want to get this guy before he has the chance to do it again. Or before you end up dead."

She slowly sat back on the bed, clasping her clothes against her chest. She looked exhausted. Fin sat down beside her.

"Look, no one believes that this is easy. But you and I both know that you'll regret it if you walk away."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get changed, and I'll see if I can get Detective Benson here."

She nodded slowly. The doctor got up.

"Take your time, I'll have to get the rape kit materials before we can do anything."

She nodded again but didn't say anything. He left the room, and Fin excused himself to call Olivia. Christine and I were left alone in the room. She was still holding onto her clothes.

"Did they give you something to take the edge off?"

She shook her head. "They offered. I don't want pills." She looked up at me. "I'm sorry for snapping at all of you. I know you're trying to help."

"It's okay," I assured her. "Can I call someone for you?"

She had done an incredible job of keeping from getting hysterical, but for the first time I detected a waver in her voice. She shook her head. "There's no one to call."

"Friend, boyfriend, roommate, family?"

"No one."

"What about your friend who brought you in last time?"

"I haven't talked to him since then."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you suspected him. What am I supposed to do? Call him up and say 'I know you got totally screwed over last time you helped me out but can you do it again'?" She shook her head.

I turned to look her straight in the eye.

"So you're just going to go through this alone?"

"What other choice do I have?"

* * *

Olivia

I opened my door in silence, neither of us sure what to do or say. It felt deathly serious. I tossed my keys, cell phone, and pager beside the door and went to the kitchen to plug in the kettle. No alcohol this time. Alcohol is what got us in trouble last time. I couldn't go there again. I got out a beer for him and put it on the counter, the dumped a bag of chips into a bowl and pulled out a bottle of salsa. He sat down; I stood with the counter between us. He opened his beer but didn't drink from it.

"Liv," he started, "the other night. . ." he trailed off, leaving me wondering whether it was an unfinished thought or question.

"It can't happen again." My voice caught in my throat, coming out softer than I had intended.

There were pauses between us that stretched into forever. "Agreed."

My phone rang, startling both of us, a brutal reminder that there was a world outside of the room we were in. I checked the caller ID. I didn't recognize the number and turned off the ringer.

"But. . ." I started. The question I was afraid to ask couldn't be avoided any longer. "But why did it happen?" Was this it? The feelings that he and I had denied for so long, the relationship we had that made us closer than any other partners, the one that in some way- big or small- contributed to his and Kathy's divorce. . . did they finally get the best of us? Were they really there after so long of being oblivious?

"Look. . ." he started slowly. "We had been drinking. We don't need to make this into something bigger than it really is.

I nodded, but somehow felt disappointed. The kettle was boiling behind me, and I turned to unplug it. The chord didn't want to unplug, and I tugged on it. It still wouldn't move, and hot water was starting to spurt out of the top. I pulled again, harder, and the chord broke off halfway out, sending a shock up my arm. I pulled my arm back and dropped the kettle, hot water splashing over my hands. I was tempted to sit down and cry, not because of it hurting but because of everything that had happened, but bit my lip instead.

And then everything happened so quickly that it all melted together in my mind. Elliot took a dishtowel, wet it with cold water, and then took my hand in his to dab at it.

"Are you okay?" he asked without looking up.

I nodded, even though he probably didn't see. Somehow, I found my fingers creeping up, wrapping around his wrist. He allowed the towel to slip from his hands and slowly brought his fingers to weave into mine. His other hand slowly- painfully slowly, so slowly that at first I thought I was dreaming it- slid to my hip, then around to the small of my back. He stepped closer, pulled me into him, and slowly brushed his lips against mine.

"El," I whispered, still close enough for my lips to touch his.

"I'm sorry," he returned, but still didn't pull back. I was grateful for that.

"I just. . ." I pulled back enough to look up at him. "We can't."

He nodded slowly, but neither of us released from our embrace. He brought his hand to my face and wiped my cheek. I realized I was crying.

"Then tonight," he replied slowly, seriously, still in a whisper. "Just for tonight, let's not be us."

And I kissed him.

* * *

Fin

"You did the right thing," I told Christine after we had finished with her examination. I silently cursed Liv for not picking up her phone.

"What now?" she asked.

"We can take you back to the station and get your statement, or we can take you home. Or to a friend's."

She shook her head. "No more," she whispered. "Not today." She had already ignored the doctor's advice of staying overnight, and I found myself asking the question that I didn't want to ask. The question that I was supposed to have to ask, because there should have been someone more able to ask than me.

"Are you going to be okay?" The question was stupid, of course. No, she wasn't okay. She wasn't going to be okay for a long time. But it slipped out. I didn't feel right about her being alone somewhere. Whether I was worried about her being alone because of some psycho having attacked her twice, or because of being worried about what she would do to herself, I didn't know.

She didn't answer me.

"Are you on-campus?" I asked her as she slid into the back seat. I noticed her wince when she moved. She had been roughed up a lot more this time, bruises forming all over her.

"Yeah," she said softly. We started out, then she spoke again. "Actually, can you take me to The Delta?"

"The hotel?" I asked.

I assumed she nodded. "I can't go home now. I just. . . please?"

I did as she asked and I waited in the background while she checked in. As protocol stated, I walked her up to her room. She thanked me and softly closed the door, leaving me with the gnawing feeling in my gut that I had missed something.

* * *

Christine Webber

I was hungry.

Starving actually.

I had called down to order room service. One of the nice things about staying in such a fancy hotel was that they'd make you anything at any time. Including French Toast at three in the morning, like I was asking for.

I paced around the room again. It was big, bigger than I would ever need, but I felt better knowing that it was more expensive than most people I knew could afford. I hated blowing money, but for the night I needed somewhere I could be alone. Somewhere clean. Just somewhere else.

I was freezing. I had showered forever, scrubbing myself clean, scrubbing myself until I was raw, but didn't feel any better. I wrapped myself in one of the hotel's robes and blasted the heat, but it was only making me feel clammy and cold. This cold came from the inside, a cold that had chilled me to the bone and showed no signs of relenting.

Maybe my heart had finally frozen over.

I sat down cross legged on the fluffy bedspread. This was it. One night where I would allow myself to cry, to hurt for what had happened. To be upset and dysfunctional. To be sad. I was allowing myself to do this one night and one night only. I didn't want to go on feeling sorry for myself.

And when I tried to cry, nothing came out.

* * *

Olivia

Monday, December 11th

"Morning Fin," I greeted him as we passed each other at the lockers. He returned the greeting, then turned around.

"Where were you Friday?"

"Home, why?"

"I tried calling you. I couldn't get ahold of you or Elliot."

"Why would I know where Elliot is?" I asked guardedly. Did he know? He gave me a funny look. I was paranoid. I was so not prepared for this.

"Anyways," I said quickly. "Why were you looking for me. I wasn't on duty."

"I know. Christine Webber was attacked again."

I shoved my jacket into my locker. "What?"

"She asked to leave the statement for today. I thought you might want to take it."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Thanks." I checked my watch, then looked at Elliot's empty desk. "Fin, do me a favour? Tell Elliot to meet me at Christine's dorm whenever he gets in."

I didn't wait for an answer. I was already gone.

* * *

I felt terrible by the time I got to her door. I should have been the one to be there Friday night. How had this even happened?

One night. I had let myself lose control for one night. And I had failed at my job.

Fuck.

I knocked at the door of her suite, and the same blonde and purple haired girl as last time answered.

"Hi," she said uneasily.

"Is Christine around?" I asked.

She looked behind her, then sighed. "Christine moved her stuff out Saturday morning. She didn't want anyone to know where she was going. And it didn't look like she was planning on coming back."


	6. Chapter 6

This was a chapter I struggled with quite a bit and rewrote several times. It still didn't quite come out the way I had intended, but it sets certain parts of the story to come in motion. So I promise, it will get better. Thanks so much for sticking with me!!

* * *

Olivia

I was fuming by the time I opened the doors to the squad room. Fin was sitting at his desk filling out paperwork, and Munch was behind him pouring a cup of coffee.

"What the hell happened Friday night?"

Both of them looked up at me, surprised. To be honest, I was surprised at how angry I sounded. I knew why I was mad, and I knew that it wasn't because of something that they did, but they were going to deal with it anyways.

"What do you mean?" Fin asked, looking up from his paperwork.

"What I mean is that Christine moved out and decided not to tell anyone where she was going. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"What's going on?" I whipped around to see Elliot still wearing his jacket behind me.

"Christine was attacked again on Friday."

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked Munch.

"I tried both of you," Fin said clearly. "And neither of you picked up."

"Let's go," Elliot said to me.

"We can't."

He waited for me to continue. When I didn't, he pressed on. "Why not?"

"Because she moved out and didn't tell anyone where she was going."

"Did she say why?"

"Here's a crazy idea," Munch interjected. "She was raped. Twice. In one week. She's traumatized. That doesn't have anything to do with Fin or I."

"Enough!" Cragen yelled over all of us. We all stopped talking and turned to find him standing in front of his office. "What's going on?"

"Christine disappeared," I told him.

"We don't know that she disappeared," Fin countered. "She just moved out."

"Without telling anyone."

"Munch, Fin, start digging through her credit cards, see if there are any signs as to where she might be. Benson, Stabler, Warner called. She's back and she has the DNA results."

* * *

"You want to talk about it?" Elliot asked me after sitting in silence in the traffic for 15 minutes.

"About what?" I asked.

"About whatever's bothering you so much?"

I hesitated. "This is my fault."

"What is?"

"I should have been there on Friday. This wouldn't have happened if. . . if I had been there on Friday."

"Liv," he said softly, pulling into a parking spot in front of Warner's office. He put the car in park and turned to look at me. "I know that you care about the victims and making sure that we close the case. . . but this is still just your job."

"You wouldn't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"Christine. She's. . . she's got no one in this world. Her parents are dead, she has no close friends, no boyfriend, nothing. No one. If it weren't for this case, would anyone even really notice that she had moved?"

"Why wouldn't I understand it?"

"Because you've never been alone. Not really. You grew up with both parents and brothers and sisters. You got married, and you had kids. No matter what happens, there are people in this world that are tied to you. I don't have that. After all's said and done, I'm alone."

"You know that's not true."

"Yes, it is." I sighed. I felt bad for throwing things in his face, but I didn't know how else to get through to him. I didn't know why I wanted to get through to him so badly. "El, when I got back from Oregon, you barely spoke to me. If I had gone back to computer crimes, would you have even known if I had come back? I'm not your family, and you've made it very clear over the past eight years that they come first. I don't have that, and you don't know what it's like. Someone needs to be there for her. Even if it's just me."

He wasn't looking at me anymore, but at the steering wheel. "Why don't we see what Warner has to say?" he said, quickly getting out of the car. I took a deep breath, then followed him into the maze of hallways that led into her office.

She was standing at the autopsy table, dictating into a tiny microphone and measuring what I assumed were intestines. She turned when she saw us, pulled off her gloves and switched off her recorder.

"I've got your DNA results," she said, coming over to us. "I haven't had a chance to look them over yet. Sorry about the wait for them, Justin's useless as an ME." She picked up a sealed manila envelope and pulled out the slides. She put them up against the light.

"It's definitely the same attacker. Bad news is that it doesn't match either of the DNA samples you sent me."

Friday seemed like it had been an eternity ago. I had completely forgotten that we had sent over samples from Chris and Rick.

"So you're saying we've got nothing?"

"I wish I could help you out some more. But forensics did send over these," she said, handing us another envelope.

"What's this?" I asked, pulling the diagram out. "A hand?"

"It's the estimated size of the attacker's hands based on the bruises on the victim's neck."

Elliot's phone rang and he excused himself. "How was your trip?" I asked.

"I should have just become a plastic surgeon. I could have retired at forty and lived there the rest of my life."

"But you'd miss us too much." Elliot came back towards us, snapping his phone shut.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Fin called. Christine put a down payment on a unit in the new condos going up near the university a month ago. This morning the balance was transferred out of her account."

"You think she's there?"

"Fin checked with the building's owner. She moved in last night."

* * *

Elliot

The trip over to Christine's was quiet. I still didn't know how to respond to Liv. We hadn't talked after Friday night, and things were just more awkward than before. The building was still under construction and a mess. It was an old office building that had been completely gutted and expensive new condos were going in just by the university. Not that any university student would normally be able to afford one of the units. They just got to look.

Christine was on the fifth floor, the only floor that looked kind-of finished. We got to the unit she was supposed to be on, and found there was no name on the door. I knocked anyways.

There was immediately barking from inside. There was a delay, then I heard locks- and a lot of them- being unlocked. Finally the door opened slightly with Christine holding on to the collar of an angry-looking chocolate coloured dog that growled at us.

"It's okay," she said softly to the dog and released it. It quickly came to sniff us over. Finally I looked at Christine. Her formerly long brown hair was now cut at her shoulders and streaked with red and blonde. She had long side bangs that did a decent job of covering the large gash still clear on her forehead.

"How did you find me?" she finally asked.

"Your financial records," Liv explained.

She nodded and stepped aside, leaving us room to come in. We went in, the dog following closely on our heels.

The condo was huge, but still looked like it was under construction. There were two couches that had been set up in what looked like a living room, one of which had a blanket and pillow on it. She quickly threw them aside and sat down, the dog following closely and jumping up beside her. I sat on the opposite couch. Liv, instead of taking a seat beside me like I expected sat down beside her. She brought her hand to the dog, allowed it to smell her, then started scratching it's head. It sighed contentedly and put it's head in Olivia's lap.

"What's his name?" She asked.

"Mushu." She shrugged. "I got him from a trainer, I didn't name him." She paused and looked over both of us. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt, but I could still see bruises around her wrists, a scratch on her hand, the gash on her head, and marks around her neck. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I moved. I just thought that maybe if I could get away from everything. . ."

"That it would just go away?" They both looked at me, surprised. Christine slowly nodded.

"I know it's not logical. I just. . . I don't know. I had bought this place last month, and I was supposed to move in in two weeks anyways. I just needed to get away from there."

"Were you attacked on-campus again?" Fin had already told me that she hadn't given him a location.

"I was just going over to get dinner from one of the cafeterias. It was six o'clock. I didn't think I was in any danger going over alone. But it was Friday, and campus was quiet, and it was getting dark and. . . and I should have known better."

"Christine," I said softly, "there was no way you could have known."

She met her eyes with mine and nodded slightly, but didn't look convinced. "There's this funny kind of balcony that wraps around the building, but you can only get to it from the front steps. I guess he knew I was coming because he grabbed me when I was coming out. He pulled me back behind the building."

"Did anyone hear you?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Was he rougher with you this time?" I asked.

She slowly ran her fingers over the bruises on her wrists, then pulled her sleeves down further. "I tried to fight harder. He didn't like it."

"Did you get a better look at him?" Liv asked softly.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. "He came. . . he came from behind me. It was dark, I couldn't see anything."

"Did he say anything?"

She shook her head. "Not really. He whispered. I didn't recognize his voice."

I tried to picture what she would have been like a week before. It had only been a week since her whole life had been turned upside down. She changed her hair, moved away, got a dog, and put seven locks on her doors. To a certain extent, I could understand what it was like to have everything you thought you knew ripped away from you- that's how I had felt when Kathy announced she was leaving. But that I could have at least seen coming. She had gone from normal college student to rape victim in a matter of seconds.

Life wasn't fair.

* * *

That evening when we finished, I turned down Fin's offer to go out for drinks. It was one of those days where I didn't feel like I could shake the case away. I hadn't spoken to Liv since we had gotten into the argument in front of Warner's office, and her words still echoed in my head. This case felt personal, even though there was nothing about it to take personally.

Maybe it was because of Liv it felt so personal. I knew what she struggled with, and I knew that a big part of her was defined by having no one. Maybe it was because I couldn't help her that I wanted to help Christine. Maybe it was helping by extension.

Regardless of the reason, I found myself doing a u-turn on my way home and driving back to an apartment building I didn't belong at.

I climbed the stairs without really knowing what I was going to do when I got there. I didn't know what I could do, but this was all I could think of. I knocked on the door, and a minute later it opened.

"Detective Stabler," Rick Thomas said, surprised. "Do. . . do you want to come in?"

I shook my head and tried to gather my thoughts. "I'm not a fan of yours, and I've never tried to hide it," I told him. "But for some reason Christine seems to trust you. So please, call her."

"Is she okay?"

I shook my head. "She's falling apart, and she refuses to let anyone help her. And if you could. . . she needs someone."

He nodded, and I was ready to leave when he spoke again.

"Why did you come here?" He wasn't rude about it. I think it was genuine curiosity.

"Because I know what it's like to care about someone who won't ask for help when they need it. She shouldn't have to go through this alone, Rick."

He nodded. "What do I say to her? This is way out of my league."

I thought for a second. "I don't think it's about what you say. It's about the fact that you say anything at all."

* * *

Olivia

I had screwed up big time. Bigger than I could have anticipated. The mess with Elliot. . . it was more than I could take on my best day. It was all too complicated, the emotions were too strong. I wasn't supposed to care about someone like that. I wasn't supposed to be involved with someone who knew me that well.

I wasn't supposed to be wanting more from him.

I had turned down invitations to go out with the squad, but found my way to another bar. I couldn't go home yet. I needed to think. I ended up at Fusion, a funky mix of a bar and a Starbucks-like coffee house. It was basically a coffee shop with beer, but that played mellow music, had comfy chairs, a wood burning fireplace, no sports shows on TV, and wireless internet. It attracted a strange mix of people, but people who I didn't know. I needed that. I ordered a beer, paid for it, and made my way over to one of the stuffed chairs.

My problem was easy to identify when I really thought about it. When I was really willing to admit it.

I wanted more from Elliot.

I finished my beer quicker than I had expected, and found myself feeling dragged down by it. I went back to the bar and ordered an oversized, overpriced chai. While I was waiting, I spotted Christine sitting in a corner booth.

"Has she been here long?" I asked the bartender.

He glanced over at her. "Couple of hours. Been pounding them back pretty hard." He placed a steaming, oversized mug in front of me. I thanked him and took it over to where Christine was sitting. She had five beer glasses that hadn't been cleared away around her, but she was focused on her laptop, typing away intensely.

"Hi," I said to her softly. She jumped slightly, then looked up at me.

"Detective Benson. Did something happen?" She sounded deadly sober.

I shook my head. "I was actually here on my own. I thought you might want a little company."

"Sure," she said, slightly guarded, closing her laptop.

"Are you doing okay?" I asked her, sliding into the booth across from her.

She shrugged. "I just needed out of the house. I couldn't focus on my paper."

"And the drinks?"

"I just needed to get my mind off everything."

"Christine," I said softly. "Have you talked to anyone? Victim's services? A sexual assault support centre?"

She shook her head. "No, and I don't want to."

"We have a psychiatrist on staff if you want to talk to him-"

"No," she said, softly but firmly. "I don't want anyone else to know."

I felt my heart breaking for her. I struggled day-to-day with not having someone to go home to, to be waiting for you, to call you up just because. I couldn't imagine trying to go through what she was completely alone.

"You know, I never knew my father," I found myself saying. "I never had any siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. . . anyone. My mom was all I had when I was growing up, and we didn't have a great relationship. And she died six years ago. I work a lot, and I'm not married and. . . a case I was working on earlier this summer got really complicated and I ended up going undercover." She didn't say anything, but was watching intently, her chin resting on her hand. "What I'm trying to say is that I know what it's like to feel like you need to be strong. And I know how hard it is to let go of that idea, but I promise that the world won't end if you give yourself a little time to heal."

She lowered her eyes and unplugged her laptop. "I should get going."

I looked at my chai, which still sat untouched in front of me. "It's getting late. Why don't you let me give you a ride?"

She shook her head without looking up at me. "I'll be fine, thanks."

"It's not a problem." I put my hand on her arm to try and reinforce my point, but caught her off guard and she jumped. For a second I saw terror in her eyes, then she tried to relax her face. She pulled her coat on and for the first time I could see how drunk she was.

"Thank you, detective," she said softly, then silently took off.

She was falling apart. She was hanging on by a thread. And how was I supposed to do anything to help her?


	7. Chapter 7

Elliot

Tuesday, December 12th

"So what do you want to do with this?" Cragen asked Munch, Fin, Casey, Olivia, and I. Huang sat quietly in the corner, waiting to get a read on the situation while Cragen chomped on some Peanut M&Ms that he kept in a jar on his desk.

"If she's not interested in helping us out, should we drop her case?" Munch suggested. "We've got seventeen open cases."

Liv shook her head. "Not yet. I'm not giving up on the case just because she doesn't have a support system in place right now. She'll regret and we'll regret it if we just let it go."

"Can we do that?" I asked.

"She hasn't recanted, so technically you're still allowed to investigate her case, but it's not going to be easy," Casey told us. "And if you do find him, you may not be able to do anything about it."

"We can't justify not investigating this," Liv told them. "He's escalating. He attacked her twice in a week, and she was hurt much worse the second time. I bet there's more victims out there we don't know about."

"You're thinking it's someone preying on college girls?"

"No," Huang said softly from the corner. "This isn't random. You said she wasn't hurt last time?"

"Barely a scratch," I told him.

"And she fought this time?"

"Yeah."

"Did he hurt her when she stopped resisting?"

"No. She said he stopped as soon as she did."

"Then you're not looking for some random predator. You're looking for someone who knows her."

"Are you saying he's stalking her?" Liv asked.

"Probably not. More like she was a victim of opportunity. And unfortunately, once these rapists start, they're not likely to stop unless someone stops them."

"Would there be other victims then?" I asked.

"Maybe. But if there aren't any now, there will be. She was attacked on-campus both times, right?"

"Yeah."

"But in different places?"

"One time coming back from a bar, one time leaving her residence."

"Then you're looking for someone she knows, but probably not anyone she pays much attention to. He's managed to attack her without her recognizing him, so you're looking for someone who has regular contact with her, but limited, like a classmate or someone who lives in her dorm. Someone she would never even think of."

"She's not going to like us digging around in her personal life," I muttered.

"Well, she's going to have to accept it. I want you four on this until she tells us to stop or we're out of leads."

"So where do you want us to start?"

"Benson, Stabler, I want you to go to her professors. See if they've noticed anyone watching her. Look into school records, get her schedule and look into classmates that look good for this." The room fell silent, except for the sound of Munch digging in the M&Ms bowl.

"What are you all waiting for? Go." We did, but remained silent as we filed to our desks. Liv and I were still tense with Munch and Fin after our argument the day before, despite their attempts to smooth things over with beer, and Liv and I were both lost in our own worlds. Liv had gone to get a drink, and we were planning on leaving when I heard someone say my name.

"Detective Stabler, is this a bad time?"

I looked up to find Christine standing in front of me. She was completely put together, with her hair perfectly styled and her blouse without a crease. I was willing to bet that this was the only way she left the house. Her voice came out smooth and calm. No one who saw her would ever have pegged her as a rape victim. It was a total transformation from the girl I had seen the day before, anxious and afraid.

"Christine," I finally said, surprised. "No, it's fine. Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I just wanted to apologize for the way I behaved yesterday. I know it's no excuse but I was caught off-guard."

"Christine," I started.

She shook her head. "I know what you're going to say and no, it's not okay. You were just trying to help me and I did everything I could to avoid you. And I was horrible to the other detectives on Friday. Anyways, I've done some thinking, and I might be able to help you guys out."

I glanced upstairs at the open area that overlooked the squad room. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more private to talk?" I suggested. She nodded, and silently followed me up.

Waiting for Liv to join us, I had found myself watching Christine. She had turned down my offer for a drink twice before finally accepting some kind of new-age-zen-fair-trade-organic tea that I knew Liv had stashed in the drawer under the coffee maker. She nervously dipped the bag in and out of her cup.

"How's school going?" I finally asked. Okay, so I was the lamest detective around, at least it but at least it opened up some dialogue. I was determined to get her to trust me. Not that I had any idea why it mattered.

"It's good," she answered pleasantly, much to my surprise. I was expecting her to just answer out of obligation. "It's getting busy with the end of the semester coming up."

"I know I said it before but if you need us to arrange any time off or extended deadlines. . ." I trailed off. This wasn't part of my job. If she was seeing a counsellor they would have put those accommodations in place for her. But she wasn't, and I didn't think she would, so I felt an obligation to do something.

She shook her head adamantly. "I appreciate that, but things happen to people all the time. And they don't get time off or extended deadlines for it. And I know that the reason that you're asking me is because. . . because what happened is something people don't like to talk about. It's something that my professors would feel so uncomfortable with that they would give me the special accommodations because they felt like they had to. And I don't want that."

God she reminded me of Liv.

And I had no idea how to tell her what she needed to know. What I hadn't been able to put into words myself. The words that I had desperately wanted to tell myself or Liv. That she didn't have to take this on her own, or that it was okay to be weak. Nothing that she would ever be willing to believe. There was something so unsettling about her. Or maybe what I saw in her. Someone completely alone in this world. She had no one to go home to. No one to call when she had good news or she needed help. When she woke up screaming she didn't have anyone to talk to.

And whether it was right or not, I felt the same way.

"Sorry I took so long," Liv apologized, taking the seat beside me. "I got a call about the case I have to testify at tomorrow. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay, thanks. I, um, I thought this might help you." She reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of papers. "I know I haven't really been helpful. This is a copy of my schedule," she explained, laying out a spreadsheet of her classes, meetings, and volunteer days. She pulled out another couple of papers stapled together. "This is a list of people who I interact with on a regular basis. I know you probably need to talk to them, so I've highlighted all the names. The ones in green are the ones I would prefer you go to first, they generally know me best or will respect my privacy. If you need to talk to another group of people, they're the ones highlighted in yellow. And the ones in red are the ones I'd prefer you didn't talk to unless you absolutely have to."

I looked down at the paper and found it neatly divided into sections- professors, roommates, dorm mates, associates from the Democratic party, from the office where she volunteered. She had an address, phone number and e-mail address for almost all of them.

"This will be very helpful," Liv said, looking it over with the same look on her face that I assumed I had. "But do you think you can talk me through your schedule first? I know you've given us the names and times, but it might help if we knew who or what we were looking for."

"Sure," she said smoothly, glancing over at the paper. "I'm in mostly small classes, which helps. I have Women's Studies Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings, but I don't think that there's anyone in there that could give you anything. There are about five guys in the class, and they're usually not there. Those who come, come with their girlfriends. I have a political science class next, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It's seminar class, so there are only 30 of us. It's predominantly filled with guys, but everyone's pretty serious about the class. I've had a couple of heated arguments with some of them, but nothing. . . nothing I would ever think of leading to something like this."

"What about between classes? Do you have a regular Starbucks or snack shop or somewhere you go in between?"

"I have an hour between classes Mondays and Wednesday and I usually go to Common Ground to study. It's a fair-trade coffee place on campus."

"Are you there a lot?"

"Two or three times a day. They make the best cappuccinos I've ever had."

For the next hour, she walked us through every part of her day-to-day routine. We made notes of anywhere there could have been anyone with an eye on her, who might have a grudge against her . . . any ideas that Liv or I could come up with. In the end, we came up with very little. She kept calm the entire time, answering endless questions. When we finished, Liv walked her out and I started running names through the system.

"She doing okay?" I asked when she came back to her desk. I had run several of the names through the system, with no hits coming back.

She shrugged. "You saw her, Elliot. She was raped twice last week, and now she seems more together than any college student I've ever seen."

I looked up at her. "You think she's making this up?"

"No. I think she's barely holding it together."

"Liv," I started softly, "about yesterday. . ."

"It's fine," she said, quickly looking away.

I wanted to say something more. I wanted to be able to say something not for the sake of saying it, but because I could finally come up with the right words. I wanted to apologize, but actually understand what I was apologizing for. And I couldn't. Luckily, a beep on my computer gave me an excuse to drop it.

"Did you get something?" she asked, quickly looking to change the subject.

"Yeah." I scanned the page. "One of her co-workers in Senator Martin's office has a prior charge for stalking an ex-girlfriend."

"The office would have checked out something like that. Why didn't it come up in his background check?"

"There wasn't enough evidence at the time to continue."

"When was this?"

"Two years ago." I looked down at my list. "Jesse Ross. She put him as one of the last-resort people to talk to."

"Is there anyone in the office who she's okay with us talking to?"

"The Senator's first legislative assistant. Nicholas Mooney."

Olivia

Thursday, December 14

"Thanks for coming in so late, detectives," Nicholas Mooney greeted us, meeting us outside the building to avoid us having to go through security. "I was away at meetings all week, I just got in this afternoon."

I had been surprised when I called to try and make an appointment and had been put straight through to his voicemail. He had called me back within an hour to apologize for being out of town, and offered to cut his trip short when he heard about the investigation. I had been expecting a fight with the office. Instead, he was doing everything to keep it simple for us.

"It's not a problem," I told him as he ushered us into his office. "We appreciate you taking the time to see us." He took a bottle of water out of his mini-fridge for each of us, then sat down at his solid mahogany conference table with us. The entire office was impeccably decorated. I didn't have to wonder why we begged for scraps in funding- it was all going to the politicians.

He took off his glasses and set them softly on the table in front of him, took a sip of his water, crossed his legs, then finally looked up at us. "You said this was regarding Christine Webber?"

"Yes," I told him, leaning forward slightly. "Has she mentioned anything to you?"

He shook his head. "No, but I wouldn't expect her to. She's a very private person."

"How long has she been working here?"

"Four months. She came on a recommendation from Senator Lindsey Grant in Vermont. She's been a wonderful addition to the staff."

"A hard worker?"

"She's the most dedicated worker I've had in the five years I've been here. She shows the most promise of any volunteer we've had."

"Have you noticed anything different with her the past couple of weeks?"

"Nothing. She's been putting in more hours, but otherwise, everything's been normal."

"Now you have another volunteer. . . Jesse Ross?" Elliot asked.

"Yes. He's been with us for the past year and a half."

"Have there ever been any problems with him?"

"He hasn't been a terribly popular worker. He does as much as he has to and nothing more."

"Have you ever noticed any problems with him and any of the female staff members?"

He sighed and leaned forward. "Look, I don't agree with keeping him on staff. He doesn't want to be here, and no one particularly likes him. We've had two interns transfer out of the office because of him, and he doesn't treat any of the other with any respect."

"Then why is he still working for you?" I asked.

"His father is Paul Ross. As in Ross Enterprises. They're a big supporter of the party. After the second intern quit, we suggested that Jesse might be happier at another office. His father called us two days later and told us in no uncertain terms that he would withdraw his financial support if his son left. Senator Martin was still willing to let him go, but the party put pressure on him to keep Jesse. Has something happened?"

"Christine was attacked last Monday. His name just came up in the investigation."

"Attacked? My God, is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's a little shaken up, but otherwise fine. "

"And you think Jesse has something to do with it?"

"We're looking into all possibilities."

"I wouldn't put it past him. Look, detectives, I don't know how much I can help you, but please know that you have the whole office's support. I know Senator Martin will do whatever you need to help."

Christine

Friday, December 15

I looked around me, paid the cab driver, and carefully stepped out onto the icy pavement. Overnight, the city had been covered in a sheet of ice after a particularly bad hail storm, and everywhere was a hazard. I navigated the icy sidewalks into the building where Senator Martin kept his office.

Despite having security clearance, it had become the building's policy to have everyone be checked out before going into an office. I waited in line and pulled out my vibrating cell phone. I checked the caller ID- Rick. Again. I let it go to voicemail, then dialled in to hear my messages. I had ignored four calls in the past couple of days, and didn't intend on taking any that were to come in. I didn't want Rick involved in anything with me anymore. He had been treated like crap because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was too nice a person to cut me out of his life for that.

So I was doing it for him.

I went through the security check and walked up to the seventh floor, where, as usual, Nicholas was sitting at his desk. He looked up and seemed surprised to see me.

"Christine, what are you doing here?"

I checked my watch. "It's nine on Friday. I'm scheduled to be here."

"I know," he said softly, looking at the scar that I hadn't quite managed to hide with make-up and my new bangs. He got up and closed his door.

"What's going on?" I asked nervously.

He sat down at his conference table, and motioned for me to sit as well. I did. "Christine, I know about what happened."

He knew? _He knew_. This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to know. Shit. "What do you mean?" I asked lightly, with what I hoped was an easy smile on my face.

"A couple of detectives came to talk to me last night. I just want you to know that everyone here's behind you 100. And if you want time off, or if you need to take it easy for a little while, we're not going to hold it against you. You know how hard Senator Martin's been working on the sexual offenders' bill-"

An idea popped into my mind. "Oh, no . . . Nicholas, I think that you misunderstood them. What did they tell you?"

"That you were attacked."

I shook my head. "Attacked, yes. But. . . you think I was raped?" I shook my head vigorously. "I was mugged. Nothing more. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I think it's slightly misplaced."

He smiled, looking relieved. "I'm glad to hear that. Not that you were mugged, but that. . . it was nothing more." He put his hand on top of mine. I felt a cold chill run down my spine, but I swallowed and looked up at him.

"Thank you for thinking of me though," I said as calmly as I could, and slowly pulled my hand away to brush phantom hairs from my face. I knew Nicholas was only trying to comfort me, and that he was in a happy relationship- with a man no less- and didn't have any ulterior motives, but any touch seemed to be enough to make me sick.

Fuck.

Elliot

Friday, December 15

"Did the Ross kid's alibi check out?" Cragen asked when we returned.

"Security tapes prove that he was home at the time of both attacks." I dropped the folder on his desk and sat down.

"So where to now?"

"We're out of leads. No one saw anything, no one seems to have a problem with Christine. . . there's nothing," Liv replied.

"Then you know the drill."

"Captain-" she started.

"I'm sorry," he told us both. "I really am. But you know the rules. The case is officially cold. We have almost twenty other open cases, take a look at those."

"So that's it? We're going to sit back and wait for her to be attacked again?" I asked.

"Have you found any evidence that she's in danger? That she's being stalked? That this perp is getting ready to go after her again?"

"No," I admitted softly.

"Then there's nothing more we can do."

_Of course not_, I thought. It was easier to do this with stranger rapes. When we could wash our hands of it- when we _had_ to wash our hands of it- and let the victim just go one without justice. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. But it was reality.

At five o'clock, completely out of character for her, Olivia started packing her stuff up. I looked up from the lab report I was reading.

"Hot date?" I asked out of habit. She didn't usually leave unless someone pushed her out the door, and she certainly didn't clock watch until she could leave. The stupidity of what I had said hit me, but she seemed unfazed.

"I've got something I have to do." She wasn't looking at me, but concentrating on looping her scarf around her neck, her voice was distracted.

"Look, Liv, I know things have been weird between us lately-"

"I don't want to get into that."

I still felt like there was too much unresolved, but I let it go. "Okay. But if you need anything. . ."

"Stop treating me like a victim, Elliot," she said, finally looking up at me. Her brown eyes were blazing. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me, and I don't need you tiptoeing around me. We made a mistake, I've accepted it, and now I think it would really help if you let us just move on from it." She picked up her keys from her desk and started to walk out before she turned back to face me. "I'm going to see Christine. Do you want to come?"

"Did something happen?"

"No I just. . . I think she should hear it in person that we've had to stop investigating.

"I'll get my coat."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked as we stepped into the elevator.

"Why not?"

"You just seem to be getting awfully personal about this case."

"I'm doing what I have to do to try and help the victim. You do the same."

I fell silent. I had attempted a few conversations in the car, but she wasn't interested in talking. The building was looking more like a condo with wallpaper, carpets, lighting and paint since we had last been there. I followed Liv off the elevator and stood a good distance behind her. Like last time, the dog started barking loudly and there was the sound of locks being opened. She opened the door, but didn't look entirely surprised to see us. She pulled the dog back and stepped aside to let us in.

Her unit also looked more finished than before. She led us into the living room and offered us both drinks. We declined, and Liv asked her to sit down.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about your case. I don't know how familiar you are with NYPD protocol, but after a week, and with no suspects, your case is officially considered cold.

For a minute I thought I saw disappointment in her eyes, but she quickly nodded and looked away. "So that's it?"

"For now, yes."

She nodded again. "Thanks for letting me know." She stood up and headed towards the kitchen, her dog following closely at her heels. Liv followed her.

"Christine, understand that if anything comes up we're back on this case. We'll find whoever did this."

I felt like I was intruding by watching them. I looked away and spotted an empty wine bottle with an almost-empty glass beside it.

She turned to face Liv, and for the first time I thought I saw her actually getting upset. It was subtle, but it was there. It felt like an accomplishment to finally see _something_ out of her, but at the same time it felt worse than usual, for the same reason. Again, she nodded, but said nothing.

"You have my cell number, right?" she asked. "Give me a call any time if you think of anything else, or if you want an update."

"I will," she said softly. Everyone in the room knew that she wouldn't. Liv excused herself to use the washroom, and in a moment of weakness, and apparently forgetting that I was sitting in the living room, Christine put her arms on the counter and rested her head in her hands, sending her wine glass skittering across the tile floor and leaving red wine covering her counter. The glass hit a pillar and broke. I quickly got up to help clean up the mess. Not realizing I was behind her, she backed up into me and jumped, before a look of panic took over and she elbowed me in the stomach. She turned around and looked at me in horror, realizing what had happened.

"I'm so sorry," she managed. "I just, I. . . I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I told her once I had caught my breath.

She backed up against her stove, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "No it's not, I'm just. . . I'm not usually like this."

Without looking at her, I started sopping up the wine and spoke softly. "You know, reacting like this isn't that uncommon."

"Don't," she said softly. "I don't need the victim rationalization."

I was more surprised than I should have been by her reaction. "Then do you think it might have something to do with that empty bottle of wine beside you?"

It was her turn to look surprised. "I don't think that's really any of your business."

Before I could come up with anything else to say, Liv returned from the washroom. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Christine said softly, then plastered a smile back on her face. "Thanks again for coming. I really do appreciate hearing this in person." She walked us to the door, and closed it tightly. I stood and listened to her locking all her locks.

"What's going on?" Liv asked me.

"You're right," I told her softly.

"About what?"

"She's falling apart."


	8. Chapter 8

Olivia

Friday, December 15

After seeing Christine, I found myself back at the station, filling out random paperwork I had been putting off. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to think about my life, I didn't want to deal with any of what was going on. Everything had gotten complicated. I wanted to escape from Christine's case more than anything else, the memory of the look on her face when I had told her that we had to stop investigating, the knowledge that statistically, we were never going to find who had raped her. Being at work wasn't helping these thoughts go away, but at least they were keeping my mind doing something other than going home and obsessing. At eight, probably at the urging of Cragen, Munch and Fin announced that they were leaving and taking me with them. So we ended up at Malone's, sharing a pitcher of beer and our customary three appetizers.

"You doing okay?" Munch finally asked casually, topping up my beer glass.

"What?" I asked with a slight smile. "Are you trying to get me drink so I'll tell you what's going on?"

He shrugged. "You don't see me filling Fin's glass, do you?" I smiled and picked at the plate of nachos sitting in front of me. "You seem to be taking this case pretty hard."

I rolled my eyes. "I wish people would stop saying that."

"Did you ever stop to think that people might be saying that because it's true?" Fin asked.

I shrugged and popped a chip into my mouth. "I hate having to declare a case cold."

"There was nothing more to go on, was there?"

I shook my head. "It just gets frustrating sometimes."

"So why this case more than any other?" Munch asked.

I took a long sip of my beer before I said anything. "The victim. Christine. She has no one in her life. No family, no friends, no one. We were the last line of support for her, and we failed."

"We're not shrinks. We're here to catch the perp, not help the victim."

I looked at Fin. He didn't sound like he was convinced of what he was saying. "But why do those two have to be mutually exclusive? Why can't we help the victim by catching the perp?"

"Other than the 4 closure rate on sex offences?"

"It's just. . . if it was me, I wouldn't be okay with it."

"But it's not you," Munch reminded me.

"But it could be." I looked up, shocked that the words had slipped out. Alcohol had been doing nothing but getting me in trouble lately, and I quickly pushed my glass away. "What I mean is. . . I know what it's like not to have anyone. If anything were ever to happen to me, I have no one responsible for me. So if that was me, I would want you guys to track down every single man in New York and test his DNA if you had to."

"But why would that make things better?" Munch asked.

"I don't know," I finally said, pushing my plate away. "It's just been a long week." I pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of my pocket and threw them on the table. "It's getting late. I should get going."

* * *

Despite my disfavour of alcohol, I reluctantly found myself alone in sweat pants with a bottle of wine by ten that night. One glass turned into two, then into the whole bottle. I tried to figure out what I was upset about, what I could do about it. I didn't know whether it was because of Elliot I was so disturbed by Christine's case, or because of Christine's case Elliot was bothering me so much. And when I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with Elliot, I felt like my brain turned into mush. I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't figure out what I wanted or how to make things okay. I missed having him, my best friend, my confidante, the one who laughed at my jokes and could anticipate my moves on the job before I knew what I was doing. But at the same time, the idea of the other Elliot, the one who had kissed my fingertips and laced his fingers through mine. The Elliot who, if I could finally say the word even just in my head, admit it to myself, was my lover. The word I didn't want to say because of the fear that it would be real. Because with lovers came emotions, and with emotions, expectations and disappointments.

The Elliot that I wanted back, the best friend I used to have, had gone away some time ago. The angry shell that had replaced him just made me long for who he used to be before Kathy left him. I hated her, in a sense, for breaking him. For being the reason that he wasn't my best friend, the reason that we had barely been able to speak to each other, for being the reason that I had to finally transfer out of the unit. It wasn't her fault. At least not completely her fault. But it was hard not to blame her.

Which inevitably led me back to the question of just what I wanted. I knew that wishing for the Elliot that Elliot had been five years ago was futile. Could things ever go back to normal now that he knew how my body responded to his? Would we be stuck in this awkward limbo forever? Or would I be better off just asking for a transfer to another precinct, or another department?

Or did I want the something more?

I had to question myself in general, at least, if I was willing to be in a relationship. Mine in the past couple of years had been light at best. I wondered sometimes if I really was still looking for someone, or if I just felt tied down by a relationship. I knew that there were a lot of men out there who didn't understand the realities of my job, who didn't understand my need for self-sufficiency. I knew I wasn't looking for my proverbial "other half". I didn't want someone who was going to complete my life or change who I am. I wanted someone who could be along for the ride.

And I knew that's what I would get if I was with Elliot.

Finally at two-thirty, having finished the bottle of wine and half a container of Ben & Jerry's cookie dough ice cream and no closer to any answers to my questions, I collapsed into bed.

* * *

Pounding on my door woke me up what seemed like only minutes later. I looked at my clock to find that it was already noon, and the sun was shining all too brightly through my open drapes. I groaned and forced myself out of bed.

"Elliot," I said, surprised to find him standing on my doorstep. I squinted, still trying to adjust to the light and ignoring the pounding in my head.

"Since when do you sleep in?" he asked.

Slowly, my brain registered this knowledge that he had. That he knew that no matter what, my body would wake me up at nine on the weekends. That went beyond what a partner knew. It bordered past best friend. I felt myself mentally putting a checkmark in the _lover_ column.

"I was. . . up late. What are you doing here?"

"I think we need to talk. I thought I could take you out to lunch."

I rubbed my eyes and nodded. "Give me five minutes."

* * *

Twenty minutes later we were sitting at a little deli down the block from me. Without having to ask, he had brought my fries over with his to drench them in ketchup and vinegar. _Best friend_ my head told me. Then changed its mind to _lover_.

"I wanted to apologize," he told me after taking a bite of his club sandwich.

"For what?" I asked, not looking up at him.

"For this week. You had every right to get mad at me. I don't know what it's like to have no one, and I most certainly don't know what it's like to be you. So. . . I'm sorry.

"Oh," I managed softly. "That's what you wanted to talk about."

He sighed. "Do you think we can talk about it while keeping our clothes on?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or be mortified. "I think in this very public place we can manage that."

"I'm sorry. For that too."

"It took two of us."

"But I started things. And. . . I don't know where we're supposed to go from here."

"Elliot. . ."

"I know that things between us have been strange for a long time. Since way before this. I want to make things right here. But I don't know how."

I closed my eyes hard, trying to push back the tears that were forming. I swallowed and opened them, glad to find that I managed to keep my composure. "I guess," I whispered, "I guess that depends on what you want."

His eyes didn't meet mine. "And if I don't know?"

"Then I don't know either." I looked down at the food in front of me and pushed it away. Things felt too complicated. They weren't supposed to be this hard.

Why didn't he know?

"Thanks for lunch," I said softly, standing up and quickly brushing past him. He grabbed my arm and said my name.

"What?" I asked, staring in disbelief at his hand wrapped around my arm. Instead of trying to push him away, it made me want to step closer.

He opened his mouth to say something. And then in a move too fast for me to understand what was happening, he kissed me. In the middle of a public restaurant, he kissed me.

"We can't," I managed to whisper, pulling away from him, my entire body shaking from the intensity. And despite every rational thought in my head screaming at me to stay and figure it out, I ran.

* * *

Elliot

Friday, December 22

One week after I had gone with Liv to tell Christine that we had to drop her case, I found myself back at Columbia, checking what one of their science professors had seen at a crime scene weeks before. I only had a couple of hours before I was off for Christmas, and I was fading quickly. I ducked into one of the on-campus coffee shops after the interview and ordered a large coffee.

"Would you like to try our eggnog latte, sir?" The perky, pony-tailed cashier asked me.

"Just the coffee, thanks."

"We can also do a cappuccino if that's what you'd prefer."

"Coffee."

"Or we have a peppermint mocha available just for Christmas-"

I was about to walk out when another cashier came over and put a cup of coffee in front of me. "It's on us. Sorry about that," he said quickly, then turned to lecture the other cashier. I picked it up and was almost out the door when a head in the corner of the shop caught my eye. I looked back to find Christine sitting in front of a laptop in a corner booth. I looked at the door, then back at her, then turned to go see her.

"Detective," she said after recovering from her initial terrified reaction. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a case. Do you mind if I join you?"

She closed her computer and pulled off her reading glasses. "Go ahead," she said with a smile. _If I didn't know any better_, I thought, _I wouldn't ever know that anything's wrong_.

"How are you doing?" I asked her quietly.

"I'm fine thanks, and yourself?" she replied automatically, still managing to look like she was sincere.

"How are you really doing?"

She dropped her voice slightly. "Do you take this much interest in all your victims?"

"Depends." It was true, and Christmas was a reminder of that. It was bittersweet having Christmas cards come in, from victims I had helped a year, two years, five years before. Some kept me updated on their lives, on how far they had come since their attack, or since their attacker was put in prison. They always left some thank you about one particular time, when I had helped them. I didn't remember all of the cases, but their thanks always stirred up memories. And the number of cards in comparison to the number of victims I had seen, they were a reminder of how many I hadn't been able to help.

"I actually wanted to apologize about last week. I had no right to speak to you the way I did. I know you were just trying to help."

"It's okay," I told her quickly. "You're doing better?"

"Yeah," she replied quietly, not meeting my gaze.

"Chrstine. . . at the risk of sounding like I'm telling you what to do. . . have you tried talking to a counsellor or a support group?"

"I'm fine," she repeated, slight annoyance creeping into her voice. I decided to push her a little further.

"The same as last week?"

"Yes."

"Then why were you finished an entire bottle of wine by five o'clock in the afternoon?"

She took a sip of the foamy drink in front of her and still wouldn't look at me. "I just needed to finish a paper. Really, I'm _fine_. I'm _great_."

She finally looked up at me. "You're a smart girl," I told her. "You and I both know that if you need to drink just so you can concentrate on a paper, you're not fine."

"What do you know?" Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . . it just came out."

"No, you're right. I don't know what you're going through. But I do know that I've seen a hell of a lot of good people who have let something like this ruin their lives when it doesn't have to. I know that you're going through hell, and that it feels like that's never going to end. But I also know that if you accept help, you can get your life back. It doesn't have to be like this, Christine."

"Can I ask you a question, Detective?" she asked softly.

"Elliot," I corrected. "Go ahead."

"Do you have any children?"

I think that was the question that I had been asked about my personal life the most, by victims, their parents, and perps alike. I tried to avoid answering as much as possible. "I have four. Three girls and a boy."

"What would you do if this happened to one of your daughters?" She sighed and continued before I could respond. "I know this isn't a fair question, but I want you to understand where I'm coming from."

"I'd do anything I could to help them," I lied. The truth was that it's easier to deal with the perp than the victim. I would go out and torture whoever attacked one of my girls, beat him within an inch of his life, then send him to Sing-Sing, making sure that every inmate knew exactly what he had done.

"But would you make them talk?"

I started to say yes, then realized just how stupid it would sound. "No."

"Then knowing what you know, and having seen what you seen, can you understand why I don't want to talk to anyone about what happened? I don't want to dwell on it. I don't want to sit in a room and talk about it until I'm blue in the face. I want to move on with my life."

"Asking for help doesn't make you weak."

She had slid her laptop into her bag and stood up. "I've spent the past year and a half avoiding being the poor girl whose parents died. I'm not going to let myself become the poor girl who was raped twice. Thank you for the company."

I left my coffee at the table and went after her. I felt a sense of déjà-vu from my lunch with Olivia the previous week. "Christine," I said, catching up with her. She turned and looked at me but said nothing.

"Look," I told her. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I just want you to know that there are people out there who want to help. You don't have to be strong all the time."

She swallowed hard. "I wish I could believe that. Merry Christmas, Detective."

And she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, I promise this is my last un-SVU chapter, at least for awhile. I promise this case and this story will go somewhere with the next chapter, but it wouldn't feel complete without this part!

* * *

Olivia

Monday, December 25

Christmas day made for the worst day of the year.

I didn't do anything special when I was a kid. Sometimes my mom would remember to stuff my stocking, others she wouldn't. But regardless of what was happening between us, as an adult I had still spent every Christmas with her, having nowhere else to go. In the beginning, before Elliot and I got close, Kathy would urge him to invite me. I knew it was a pity invitation, and I never accepted. The second Christmas after my mom had died, Alex and I had spent the day together, her being unable to fly home for some reason that I was never quite clear on. No relationship had ever led to anything serious enough for me to go home with him for Christmas.

What really bothered me was that I knew that Munch, Fin, and Cragen were all going through the same thing. Munch wasn't on good enough terms with any of his ex-wives, and had no interest is spending Christmas with his brother. Although Fin had made some progress in his relationship with his son, Ken was going away with his boyfriend. And Cragen was probably at home trying not to drink the bottle of vodka that he undoubtedly kept on hand for such occasions. He still missed his wife more than I thought was possible. He steadily increased the time he spent in the office around Christmas, sometimes spending two or three days there without going home. He would work Christmas Day if he could. I knew he kept himself on the on-call list, as did I, but no one ever reported a rape on Christmas.

I knew Elliot was spending the morning and afternoon with Kathy and his kids, but for the first time, they were going to her mother's for dinner without him. He had been unclear on what he was going to do. He had mentioned something about going to his sister's for dinner.

I knew that every one of them would be sitting alone today. And yet somehow we were all too stubborn and too set in our ways to spend the time together. Somehow, the concept of spending Christmas with them felt more depressing than spending Christmas alone. It was much easier to pretend that we had spend a nice day doing what we wanted to, and we were happy alone.

I sighed. Ten o'clock in the morning and I was already done with Christmas.

* * *

I found myself trying to bake over the next several hours. After setting off my smoke detectors seven times (twice the smoke detectors on the entire floor), I figured it was time to quit. I looked at the clock. Elliot's kids would just be leaving. I sighed, then picked up my keys and headed out the door.

* * *

She didn't say anything when she opened the door. I didn't blame her. It probably wasn't right for me to be here. It didn't feel right for me to not be here either.

"I thought you might be able to use some company," I explained.

For the first time, instead of a protest, instead of insisting that she was fine, her resolve crumbled and she stepped aside to let me in.

"You must have someplace better to be today," Christine said softly, taking a seat on the sofa.

"How are you doing?" I asked, taking a seat across from her. Her dog, who had grown considerably in the past two weeks, came bounding towards me with his tail wagging.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks. You didn't have anywhere to go?"

She shrugged and brought one knee up to her chest. For the first time I noticed just in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, no make-up, no facade, she looked like a teenager. "People aren't so crazy about non-family members at Christmas." She got up to pour herself a drink, her dog following her into the kitchen. She came back out with two mugs of coffee. "I order Chinese and watch bad movies."

"I can let you get back to that, if you want."

"Actually, I don't mind having someone around." She didn't look up, she didn't change the tone in her voice, but I felt an odd sense of accomplishment. Like I had finally done something right in her case. "You don't have anywhere else to be?"

I shrugged as nonchalantly as she had. "Like you said, people aren't so crazy about non-family members at Christmas."

"What about your partner?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee and wrapping her hands around the mug.

I nearly choked on my own coffee. "What do you mean?"

She smiled slightly. I took this as another good sign. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It just seems that you two are very close."

"We are. But he's actually spending Christmas with his kids." I put down my mug and leaned forward. "Are you really doing okay?"

She shrugged. "I've been fine on my own the past year and a half. I don't know why it should be any different now."

"Have you talked to anyone?"

She shook her head and shivered. "I don't want to. I don't want other people to know."

"What about Rick?" I asked, referring to the friend that had brought her into the hospital the first time.

She shook her head. "He only knew because he was the one who found me. Besides, I haven't talked to him in weeks."

"Why not?"

She shrugged again. "I know you guys questioned him."

"So?"

"So he was put through the ringer just for helping me out. I'm not going to put him through that again."

"We were wrong. He really does seem to care about you."

"That's another reason," she said softly.

"What? That he cares about you?"

"I can't handle that. Not now."

"Christine, can I asked you something?"

"Sure," she said, putting down her own mug.

"I understand that you don't want other people to know. I know that what happened to you was something private, and it's no one's business, but what's the worst that could happen if you walked to someone?"

She took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what it's like for a woman to try and get into politics? I spend my time trying to work twice as hard as any male so that I can appear almost as good as them. I've been asked seven times if I slept with Senator Martin to get my internship. They have all these rules about women and minorities, and how many there need to be, so politicians are cutting corners by getting minority women so they can fill both quotas with only one person. I've worked damn hard to be respected by my peers and by those in the political arena, and if they were ever to find out about this, none of that would matter. I would be the girl who was raped. I would be their poster girl. They would speak out and use my name, because they could. I wouldn't be a person any more, I would just be a pet cause for a little while, and then I would be done."

It made sense to me. I had spent years trying to find the balance between talking about my mom and keeping it inside until I lost it. And it wasn't so much that I cared that people knew, it was the _poor you_ look that they would get when they looked at me. But it had taken me years, a childhood with an alcoholic mother, a broken engagement, and years on the job before I became that cynical or jaded. When I was in university, I didn't lock myself in and do homework, I still went out and partied, I was still a teenager.

"Have you always been like this?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"All work, no play?"

She looked down at her jeans to pick at a string coming loose on her jeans. "I was supposed to be with them."

"With who?"

"My parents. I was supposed to go to Barbados with them when they were in the accident. But I had just started dating this guy- I wanted to have the house to myself, I wanted to party, I wanted to do all the things that I would never have done with them around. So I stayed home."

"Is that the other reason that you won't talk to Rick?"

"Yeah," she admitted softly.

"I understand the feeling that you need to punish yourself. Believe me, I do-"

"How?" she asked, looking up. She didn't sound rude, or confrontational, but almost desperate.

"When my mom was in grad school, she was raped. She got pregnant, and she had me. So I spent a good part of my life feeling like I should be punished for what my father did to her."

"How did you stop?"

_I didn't_, I thought, a sense of clarity finally washing over me. "What happened wasn't my fault. And nothing that's happened is yours. You don't have to punish yourself forever, Christine."

And maybe, just maybe, neither did I.

* * *

Christine

After Detective Benson left, I sat on the sofa with my phone for fifteen minutes, just staring at it, psyching myself up. Mushu was curious about what I had that fascinated me so much, so he tried to bite it three times. Finally, I worked up the nerve to dial the number. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Voicemail.

"Hi, Rick. It's me. I- um, I'm sorry I missed your last couple of messages. I. . . I just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and I hope you're having a good time skiing. I'll talk to you soon. Bye."

* * *

Elliot

I was stupid. There was nothing to call me except stupid. Standing outside in sub-zero degree weather without gloves, pacing in the entryway to Olivia's building. Stupid. Finally, I punched in the security code she had given me years ago and walked up to her floor. I knocked on her door, fully expecting her to be inside. Somehow, I was still surprised when she opened the door.

"Elliot," she said, surprised. Her apartment smelled like something had burnt inside. "Do you want to come in?"

I didn't. I couldn't. I could just say what I had to say and get out of there. No more, no less.

"You have to understand," I finally said, "Kathy and I were together from high school. I've spent more than half my life with her. So I don't know how this type of thing works. I know I'm not playing by the rules or doing anything right here, but if you give me time, I'll figure it out."


	10. Chapter 10

Okay, so the first part is still a little un-SVU. But I promise I've put something worthwhile at the end!!

* * *

Olivia

Monday, February 5

After a morning of interviewing high school students, trying to figure out whether or not an underage student was sleeping with her teacher, I was ready to go home. They had been facetious at best, most of them using our interview as a chance to vent about the school policies that they didn't approve of. Fin, who I had partnered with while Elliot was stuck at a trial, had suggested that we go out to get lunch to take a break. I was going to just check my messages, but when I got in, I found Rick Thomas talking to Cragen.

"Is everything okay with Christine?" I asked him.

"I don't think so. She and I had planned to go out for lunch, but then said you guys had called her in and that she wouldn't be able to make it. I figured she could use some support after whatever it was that she was doing here, so I came to meet her. But I've been talking to Captain Cragen who says that no one had any plans to talk to Christine at all."

"Do you know anything about this, Liv?" Cragen asked me.

I shook my head. I'd been working on different cases, and after seeing her at Christmas, I had been under the impression that she was doing better and stopped worrying.

"Are you sure you said she'd be here?"

"Yeah. She said one of you had called her in about her statement."

I went over to my desk and opened my drawer where I was still keeping her file. No one had called her, no one had even looked at the file. I had a knot growing in my stomach.

"How's her behaviour been over the past few weeks?" I asked him.

"I don't know. I've barely seen her. She's been drinking a lot."

I glanced over at Fin and Cragen who hadn't said anything. "Something's not right here, Captain. She's the most organized person I've ever met; I can't see her making a mistake like this."

"What do you want to do?"

"Track her down, make sure she's okay?"

This wasn't a request that he would normally comply with, but he had felt just as guilty as us when we had declared the case cold. "Okay. You and Fin find out what's going on. Let me know as soon as you find something."

* * *

I tried to call her home phone and her cell phone. I called the senator's office, only to have them report that she had told them she was going out of town for a couple of days.

"You're thinking she did something to herself?" Fin asked me as we got in the car.

"I don't know," I murmured. "I thought she's was doing okay."

"Now you're not so sure?"

"We've seen it too many times for me to not check it out." Over the years we had found too many victims who tried- sometimes successfully- to kill themselves when the pressure of the investigation and the post-traumatic stress got to be too much. Christine was particularly stubborn and particularly insistent that she was fine. We drove over to her building, mostly in silence. The building was much closer to being completed, but judging by the names on the buzzer, only a couple of people had already moved in.

"Excuse me," I asked the doorman who had been helpful the past couple of times I'd been there. "Do you happen to know if Christine Weber is home?"

"Actually, she called down a couple of hours ago to request that her buzzer be temporarily disabled."

"Is that a common request?"

"Not at all. Especially from Ms. Webber."

Fin and I exchanged glances. Something definitely wasn't right. "Do you have a spare copy of her keys?"

"Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"We really need to see her," I told him.

"I'm sorry, I can't just-"

"We're NYPD," Fin jumped in, flashing his shield.

"Certainly, officers," he replied politely. He went into a back office and re-re-emerged with her set of keys. "I trust you'll return them when you're finished?"

"Absolutely," I shouted back to him, already on my way to the elevator. I noticed as we passed the other units, names had begun to appear on the doors. Christine's door still simply had a number. I knocked hard.

"Christine?" I called. "It's detective Benson." I knocked harder. I tried yelling again, but when nothing worked, I unlocked the door and tried to open it. The door was dead bolted.

"I was really hoping I wasn't going to have to do this," I told Fin. I hurled my shoulder into the door, breaking the bolts and sending the door flying open.

Her place was deathly quiet. Perfectly organized, as usual, with a recycling bin full of empty liquor bottles beside the door. I made a mental note of that, and continued down the hall, Fin following closely behind me.

"Christine? Are you in here?" I looked in the first door, which contained an empty washroom. I did the same for the second door, an empty study with her laptop hooked up. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom. I pounded on the door, called out her name, then opened it.

She was lying on the bed, curled into a ball, her dog beside her sticking his nose in her back, trying to wake her up. In the month and a half since I had seen her, she had gone from healthy looking to overly skinny. Her skin was abnormally pale and clammy to the touch. I reached out to feel her pulse.

"She's barely breathing," I told Fin. "Call a bus." He pulled out his cell phone to call and I desperately searched through her bedside table for any sign of pills. There was no blood, no cuts on her wrist. I went around to the other side of the bed to check the bedside table and found an empty bottle of vodka. I heard Fin talking to the dispatcher.

"Alcohol poisoning," I told him. He repeated this into the phone, then snapped it shut and came over to check her out himself. He checked her pulse and struggled to lift her.

"It'll save them time trying to get up here," he explained. I ran ahead to open the doors for him. He got her into the elevator and we made it down before she stopped breathing completely. I pressed the emergency stop button to make sure that the elevator didn't shut and rolled her over to start CPR. Fin ran out and quickly returned with the ambulance. They got her onto the stretcher without a problem and quickly put a mask over her mouth to breathe for her.

"Are you going to ride with her?" Fin asked.

"Yeah," I told him, following the paramedics in. "Call Cragen and let him know where we are then meet me there."

* * *

"How is she?" I asked the doctor who finally emerged from the curtain where she had been taken in.

"Are you her sister?" she asked me.

"I found her," I explained, showing her my badge. "Is she okay?"

"She's lucky. A couple more minutes and she would be in a body bag. They're pumping her stomach right now. But she's certainly not okay."

"Why? What's wrong with her?"

"She's dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. Her electrolytes are completely unbalanced, swollen glands, irregular heartbeat, and there's what looks like acid damage to her throat and teeth."

"Christine's bulimic?"

"I don't think so. There were no scrapes on her knuckles. Her chart said that she was admitted twice in December?"

"She was attacked."

"Then you can check with her, but my bet, detective, is that she has one hell of a case of post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Anything on her tox screen?"

"Nothing other than the alcohol."

"Can I see her?"

"I'll let you know when they're done with her. She may be out of it for awhile. Have you contacted her family?"

I shook my head. "There's no family to contact."

I thanked the doctor, then went back to my seat outside the room she was in. Fin and Cragen came charging in.

"Is she okay?" Fin asked me.

"She's alive. They're going to tell me when I can see her."

"Did she take anything?"

"No. She just nearly drank herself to death."

"Fin, can you call Munch and let him know where I've gone?" he asked. I didn't say anything, but raised my eyebrows. Cragen wasn't the type to account for his whereabouts to anyone, nor to get someone to make his phone calls for him. At first it looked like Fin was going to say something to that effect, then seemed to change his mind and slipped away. Cragen took a seat beside me.

"You doing okay?" he asked quietly, both of us staring at the wall ahead of us.

"I'm fine. I found her. She's going to be fine."

"But are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've gotten pretty close to the victim. And this kind of situation-"

"This has nothing to do with my mother," I told him firmly.

"Okay," he told me, standing up. "You're going to stick around here for awhile?"

"Yeah, I'm going to wait for her to wake up."

"Give me a call whenever you find out."

"Will do." He started walking off before I called his name.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around.

"Thanks." I didn't have to say what for. He understood. He smiled and kept walking. I didn't have to specify that I was grateful that he had thought enough to know that this situation might stir up memories I would prefer unstirred. I didn't have to tell him I was thankful that he would ask, when he knew I wouldn't say anything if anything was wrong. And I didn't have to thank him for coming down under the guise of checking on Christine, when he had come down to the hospital to make sure I was okay.

* * *

Christine

There was a beeping. A loud beeping. A beeping that felt like it pierced my eardrums and drilled straight through my brain. I tried to open my eyes, only to find that the light around me was blinding. My head throbbed. My mouth was dry, my throat was sore, and when I tried to scratch my nose, I discovered that my right arm was restrained. I looked up to find that two IV bags fed into the tube that was stuck under my skin, surrounded by a purple bruise, and there was a blood pressure cuff around my arm that squeezed me intermittently.

Then I remembered the drinks. And then I realized where I was. Startled, I started to try and pull myself out of bed, only to find myself too weak. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. It became harder to breathe. Terror took over.

"I wouldn't try getting up," a male voice came from beside me. A man that I remembered seeing around the police station when I had gone to give my statement. All of that seemed like a lifetime ago. He was older, bald, slightly pudgy. "You're probably too weak to do anything other than hurt yourself. He stood up and came towards me. He picked up a glass with a straw on the table beside me and brought it to my lips. "Drink slowly."

I was beyond humiliated.

"Thanks," I finally managed to say. "What happened?"

"Detective Benson found you. You had alcohol poisoning; you nearly died. I came in on my way home from work to get her to go get something to eat since she hadn't left your side all day."

"How did she find me?" I croaked.

"Your friend came by the station. Apparently you told him that you were coming to see us. Now, I need you to listen to me." I wasn't in much of a position to fight. He looked at me sternly, but his eyes were soft. "You are headed down a very dangerous road. You got damn lucky today. And I know that there's been no one here to tell you this. My detectives aren't allowed to say anything to you, but I'm in charge; I make the rules here. You need help. I'm not suggesting. I'm not making a recommendation. I'm saying you _need_ it."

"I'm fine," I insisted softly.

"Fine? You think that being in the hospital is fine? That drinking so much that your respiratory system came minutes away from shutting down is fine? That needing a machine to breathe for you and your stomach pumped is fine? That not sleeping, eating, or keeping yourself hydrated is fine? I know that what's happened to you isn't fair. I know that it isn't right that we had to stop investigating. But that doesn't mean that it's okay for you to throw your life away."

"I'm doing what I can."

"This is beyond what you can do. You can't deal with all this yourself, and no one expects you to be able to. I have been working with this squad a long time, long enough to know that you can't make it on your own. I've been sober for 20 years and I still can't do it on my own. So I'm going to make a call right now. You get to choose where. I can call victim's services, I can our department psychiatrist, I can call up my own AA sponsor to drag you to a meeting, or I can call upstairs to psych because you're posing one hell of a danger to yourself."

There it was. The moment I had been unknowingly waiting for. The moment when I didn't have any choice but to get help. The help that I didn't want to get, but understood that I needed. The help that might be my only way of getting out of this alive.

"The psychiatrist, he's covered by doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Always."

I nodded. I couldn't ask him for help. I could ask him to make the call. But I nodded, to let him know that that was what he should do.

"I'll call him," he said softly. "His name's George Huang. He'll make sure you get what you need."

I closed my eyes and tried to swallow hard. An unfamiliar feeling flickered in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't pain, or nervousness, or fear.

It was hope.

* * *

Tuesday, February 20

On my way up to Senator Martin's office, I felt my cell phone vibrate. I pulled it out to find I had missed a call, but Rick had left me a message. He had missed my call earlier, but he wanted to confirm that he was leaving soon to come and meet me at the office. I had agreed to go out to dinner with him in the hopes of starting to go back to life as "normal".

A week and a half had passed since I was released from the hospital. Although I hadn't really started regular counselling, I had met with the SVU psychiatrist twice. I was trying with little pieces, baby steps. I had finally accepted a sleeping pill, and had gotten a few hours of sleep a couple of nights. As a result, the day didn't seem quite as daunting. Quite, of course, being a completely relative term. I had started being able to eat little amounts without immediately feeling sick. I had gone back to classes right away, but without the tranquilizing effects of alcohol, the work suddenly seemed a lot harder, and came with the memories and thoughts that I couldn't push away. So I found myself going to Senator Martin's office, long after everyone should have gone home, but probably a good hour before Nicholas actually would leave, to talk to him about leaving.

"Christine," he said, looking up when I came in, a smile slicing across his face. "I was so sorry to hear you had strep throat. Are you feeling better?"

I closed the door behind me and sat down at the chair across from his desk. "I am. But I actually need to talk to you about my placement here."

"Is everything okay?"

I sighed. "I appreciate this internship. I don't think that any of you here understand just how much I appreciate this. But unfortunately, with my course load right now, I'm not going to be able to commit myself to the number of hours or the calibre of work that you've come to expect from me.

"Are you resigning?"

"That's not my intention. However, I know space is limited and with my limited availability, I don't think it's fair for me to keep this spot."

He saved whatever he was working on and got up to take a seat beside me. "Christine, you're a freshman. I've been incredibly impressed by how much you've taken on, and you've been a very valuable addition to our staff. If you would be okay with it, I'd like it if you would stay on with us."

"I'd love to, as long as no one is paying for it as a result."

"Don't you worry about it. I appreciate your candour. Is there anything else that we need to deal with?"

I smiled at him. "No. Thank you so much for this, Nicholas. I really appreciate your understanding."

He returned the smile, then put one hand on top of mine. The familiar fear of anyone anywhere around me returned. I felt an icy chill run down my spine. Dr. Huang had assured me this was normal. That this would pass. But to not force myself into uncomfortable situations in order to speed things up. Despite this, I felt myself break into a cold sweat under my jacket. I didn't want to arise any suspicion or make him feel uncomfortable, so I looked down at his hand to figure out some way to get it off of mine.

"Oh, no, what happened to your ring?" I asked, noticing for the first time that the diamond in his the bands that he and Steven had chosen-a fairly ostentatious choice- was missing.

"What do you mean?"

"The diamond's missing."

He laughed. "Christine, we changed our bands months ago."

"When was this?"

"November. For our anniversary."

I shook my head. "See? This is how distracted I've been!" I studied the new band. It was a perfect, plain gold band. Something about this face seemed to click in my head. I looked around the office to find his running clothes set out on the chair in the corner. "You're going out running in this weather?" I asked with a smile.

"Endorphins, baby!" The running clothes- his faded blue Yale sweatshirt, beaten to the point you couldn't make you the name, and black pants that seemed like cotton.

With no drawstring or zipper.

The plain wedding band.

The way he said baby.

"I should get out of here," I said to him, hoping what I thought was the same smile I'd had earlier. "I have dinner plans."

"Certainly," he told me quickly, a certain friendliness missing from his voice. He stood up and pulled the chair back for me. I turned to find myself face-to-face with him

Exactly the same height. And this close, I could smell him. Not a smell I could give a name to, not a smell that I could compare a perfume or a food to, but a smell that I had never noticed on him before, but I certainly had on someone else.

I quickly made my way to the door and kept one hand on the handle. He stayed back. "I need to get going," I told him as calmly as I could. I slowly opened the door, planning on sprinting out as soon as I was out of reach. I pulled it open, only to have it immediately shut tightly. Nicholas had quickly come and blocked me in.

"No, sweetheart," he told me in a firm tone I hadn't heard from him before. The tone confirmed my every suspicion. "I think there's something we need to discuss." His eyes flashed an almost red colour. I felt my heart stop beating, then quickly start up again, much too quickly. I managed to shriek for help before he pushed me against the door, one hand firmly covering my mouth, a knife he had pulled out of nowhere sat closely against my throat. So closely that I was afraid to swallow.

"Now you remember how this works?" he whispered. "Just remember, that if you don't fight me, I'm not going to hurt you." I nodded in agreement, and slowly let his hands fall away from my mouth and throat. I gathered up all my courage, and against all better judgement, took a deep breath in.

"Help!" I managed to wail. Nicholas quickly pressed back towards me.

"That was a mistake," he whispered in my ear, almost tenderly. He kept moving, closer and closer, to the point where the tip of the blade was scratching against my stomach. I willed myself not to say anything.

And then he pushed himself slightly harder, and I felt something warm pooling on my shirt. I looked down to see that his knife was now covered in my blood, and my white blouse was quickly growing a crimson spot.

But that didn't matter. Because then all I could see was blackness.


	11. Chapter 11

Olivia

Tuesday, February 20

"George," I called, seeing him pass in my peripheral vision. He had his jacket tucked neatly under one arm, his briefcase held at his side. I knew it wasn't fair to be chasing after him after his day was over, but I hadn't been able to track him down for the past two days. "You spoke with Christine yesterday?"

He nodded. "She came in for a counselling session."

"How's she doing?"

He put both his jacket and briefcase down beside my desk. "She's got a long way to go."

"Is she receptive?"

"There are some issues that need to be addressed before we can even start. Normally I'd refer her to a victim's services counsellor, but she appears to need more help than they can generally give."

"So you're going to keep seeing her?"

"For now."

"She's doing okay though?"

"She's eating a little, sleeping a little, and sober. I'd say she's doing incredibly well at this point."

"What was the cause of that?"

"From what I understood from Christine's records, she had never sought counselling after the death of her parents. There are a lot of questions around just how psychologically balanced teenagers are to begin with, so having that kind of trauma would likely have likely caused problems that were never addressed. Then she was attacked twice in a very short period of time which anyone would have reacted badly to. What looked like bulimia to the doctors was likely just a symptom of the post-traumatic stress. You know how common nightmares are among victims. And the drinking was a way of suppressing her thoughts to a point where she was able to concentrate on something else. When you put those three together, she was a time bomb waiting to explode."

"Do you think she was attempting suicide?"

He shook his head. "I haven't seen anything that would make me believe that. She doesn't seem to have any tendency towards harming herself. All she keeps saying is that she wants to move on with her life."

"She's going to be okay?"

"It's going to be long, it's going to be hard, and it's going to be extremely painful, but she can recover."

I smiled. "Thanks, George."

"Anytime." He picked up his things and said good night, then headed towards the elevator.

"Ready to go?" Elliot asked me, coming over after he saw George leave.

"Yeah," I told him softly. We were going to go out for dinner. Was it a date? I didn't really know. We hadn't made it any further since Christmas in understanding what was happening. Things had been insanely busy, and neither of us were pushing particularly hard. On my end, it was mostly fear. I didn't know what would happen or if it would be okay. I didn't know what he wanted, or really what I wanted. I was happier believing that we had sorted things out and just leaving us in limbo. Finally, at the beginning of the month, he had suggested dinner. Between all the work and interruptions, it had taken three weeks for us to finally find a time when we could make it out together. It was strange to me, that we couldn't find time to go to dinner together, a proper, sit-down meal, but we had managed to end up in bed together on more than one occasion. I glanced up at him, shuffling through the papers on his desk. He had been in court all day and was still in his suit. I saw where his jaw was clenched, still tense from the cross examination that he felt had damaged Casey's case. I didn't know how I was supposed to walk away from this building and leave Elliot, my co-worker, behind, and be with Elliot, my romantic interest. Or maybe I wasn't supposed to. I didn't know. "Just give me a minute."

I quickly walked over to the washroom to inspect myself. I hated myself for doing what I was about to do. I quickly pulled out the bobby pins I had used in the morning to secure my hair in place instead of my usual elastic to that it would fall into the waves that I had come to love when I took them out. I cared, and it was a problem. Elliot, who had seen me when we worked around the clock on cases and didn't shower for three days, who had seen me at my worst, who woke me up countless mornings before I had a chance to brush my hair, was going to go out for dinner with me and I cared about what I looked like. Somehow, the concept of it being a real date and him walking me to my door and kissing me goodnight seemed much scarier than been rejected. It seemed much scarier than going for my weapon re-certification. It was damn well scarier than my job. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, then headed back towards the squad room. Elliot was still standing by his desk, but Cragen was standing beside him, speaking too softly for me to make anything out. He looked deadly serious, and Elliot leaned his head in to listen. Elliot nodded, and Cragen left.

"Everything okay?" I asked him.

He closed the files on his desk and pulled on his jacket in silence.

"Elliot, what's going on?"

"Come on," he told me. "I'll explain on the way."

* * *

"How's she doing?" I pressed the doctor as soon as he came out of the trauma room that Christine was in. It was the same doctor who had been there to examine her the night everything had started. Doctor MacDonald.

"She was stabbed. It narrowly missed any of her vital organs. She has an intracranial hemorrhage that needs to be operated on before she strokes out. She has at least two broken ribs, sprained wrist, a broken ankle, a collapsed lung, multiple open wounds and bruises across her body. She's a real mess."

"But she going to be okay, right?"

For once, he didn't have the right answer at his disposal. "The first concern," he replied softly, "is getting her through the night. Anything after that is gravy."

"So what are you waiting for?"

"We're waiting for an OR to free up."

"Is she conscious?"

"No. She was responding to stimulus when she first came in, but she isn't anymore."

"Who brought her in?"

"A friend. He's over there."

I looked over to find Rick sitting with his head in his hands. "Okay, I'll be somewhere around here, can you let me know of anything changes?"

He nodded. "Not a problem."

I thanked him, then made my way over to Rick. The obvious question- why were you the one that found her _again_ weighed on my mind. Three times felt like too much. But we had found a legitimate reason for him finding her the first time, the second time he couldn't have had anything to do with.

"Rick?" I asked, completely forgetting about Elliot behind me. He looked up at me. His eyes were wide, his face pale, and his shirt covered in blood. "What happened?"

"I was going to take her out for dinner. I went to pick her up and she wasn't there. I tried to go into the building to check for her, but security's tight, they wouldn't let me in. I finally convinced a couple of the guards to check for her, and they found her dumped at the side of the building. I thought she was dead."

"This was at her apartment building?"

"No, at the Madison building. Where Senator Martin has his office. She had gone in to talk to them about cutting back her hours. I doubt she even made it up there."

"What time did you find her?"

"Seven-twenty five, maybe seven thirty. We were supposed to meet at seven. And you've met her; you know how organized she is. To her, being on time is late."

"What time did you alert security?"

"Seven ten, I guess?"

"Did you see anything? Did she say anything?"

"She was unconscious. I thought she was dead at first."

"Okay," I told him. "Give me a couple of minutes, I'll have more questions." I cleared my throat and pulled Elliot aside. "She was in the Madison building. That means lots of security cameras and visitors logs. I'll call Fin and get him over there with CSU. Then we'll need to get Casey to wake up a judge for a subpoena for all the video cameras that may have seen anything, and a search warrant for Senator Martin's office."

"Okay, are you coming?"

I shook my head. "I'm going to wait for her."

"She's going into surgery, Liv. It's going to be hours before you know anything."

"I don't care, I want to wait. I'll call you if I hear anything."

* * *

Elliot

"You look like hell," Fin informed me, meeting me in front of the building.

I rolled my eyes. "I hear insomnia is very in this season. What have you found?"

"Nothing much here. The snow was cleared away days ago so there's no hope for footprints, and it looks like she was carried out here, since there's no blood other than where she was found."

"Have you been in to talk to security yet?"

"They've got everything ready for us, they just need the judge's signature first."

"Okay, I'll see if I can get something from them now. Where's Munch?"

"Didn't answer his page. Did you see her?"

"Christine?"

I shook my head. "She not doing well though. They're taking her into surgery."

He shook his head but didn't say anything. I looked up to find Cragen coming over with papers in his hands.

"Hand delivery?" I asked in mock surprise.

"One PP wants me in on the search. Lots of politicians in this building, they don't want anything going wrong. It's a public relations nightmare. The chief of detectives is going to tell the senator in person that his office is being searched." He didn't slow down to talk to me, so I quickly followed him in. The security guards glanced at the search warrant and then up at him. "We record all our security footage onto hard drives. After a week, they're erased. We're burning the footage for the times your victim was in the building onto disks."

"Do you have a main log for who comes in and out?" I asked.

He nodded, and pulled out a couple of stapled sheets. "This is all the activity for today. If you need any others, let me know."

"Do you have maintenance service in the building?" Cragen asked him.

"We provide the services, but many of the offices prefer to contract outside companies."

"What about Senator Martin's office?"

"He uses our services, but we're on strict orders to keep his office last. One of his staff members always leaves late."

"Who's that?" I asked.

The security guard looked over at his computer. "Nicholas Mooney."

"Is he still in the building?"

"He hasn't swiped out. There is one back exit, but most people use the front desk to swipe out. It makes it easier when they're doing payroll to be able to prove that they were here late."

"Okay, Fin," Cragen called, motioning for him to come in. "I want you to go over the security tapes for the past two hours to see if there's anything out of place." He looked over at the security guard. "Can you get us into the Senator's office?"

He nodded. He headed out towards the office, and we followed. The door to the office was locked, and there was no light coming from inside.

"Doesn't look like there's anyone here," I told Cragen.

He nodded. "Open it."

As predicted, the light was off. I reached for the light switch and found papers scattered across the room, blood stains on the wall and carpet, and a purse with its contents strewn across the floor.

"We've got to get CSU in here," Cragen said, pulling out his phone. I went over to the purse and pulled out the wallet inside to check the ID. Christine. I looked over at the other items that had fallen out- a cell phone, nail file, lipstick, mini bottle of Advil. Seeing these items made it easy to believe that at times she really was a teenager. I put the purse back down where I had found it.

"Fin's got something."

"What?"

"Everything but a smoking gun."

* * *

"Elliot, you need to calm down," Fin warned me once we had stormed into Nicholas' building.

"I'll calm down when he's convicted. The bastard sat in front of me and pretended to care about her. He offered to help. And because I didn't see through that, she might die." We got to his apartment and I started pounding on his door. I was waiting for an excuse to break it down. To have him fight me so I would be justified in throwing his head through a window. There was no response, and I pounded harder. Finally I heard footsteps coming towards the door. Slowly, he opened it. He had only thrown a bathrobe around himself, and the apartment appeared dark.

"Can I help you?" he asked, squinting at Fin. I looked closer, and noticed he was flushed. He looked over at me. "Detective. Is everything okay? Is Christine alright?"

I clenched my jaw and willed myself to stay calm. "No, she's not. Actually, we might be able to use your help."

"Anything."

"I'm sorry, my night vision's terrible, do you mind talking in the hall? I can't see anything." Slow, steady breaths. That was all I had to remember. Calm. Just for a couple of seconds.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Sure, anything I can do to help." He knotted his robe and quietly pulled the door shut behind him. "What happened?"

He was out in the hall. Fair game. Legal arrest. I grabbed him by his robe and shoved him into the wall. There was a loud thud, then a groan. "What happened? What happened is that you slipped up. We got you on tape. Nicholas Mooney, you're under arrest-"

"What's going on out here?" a male voice boomed from his doorway. Another man of the same height came out, also wearing just a robe.

"Who the hell are you?" Fin asked.

"I'm his husband."

* * *

I walked back into the hospital with less of a sense of accomplishment that I had hoped. I had finally found him, he was in booking, he was caught on tape. It was going to be over. My shoulders ached from the tension that had been building for hours, and at 2 in the morning, I was starting to feel exhausted.

I asked at the main desk, and they gave me the room number for where she would be when she was out of surgery. I swung by the emergency room, but Liv was long gone. Instead of the elevator, I took the stairs. I wanted to tell her that we had found him, that we had arrested him, but I was afraid to find out what I was going to find out when I got to the room.

When I got to the ninth floor, I stopped by one of those awful coffee vending machines and bought two cups. Sleep sounded good, but I knew Liv wouldn't leave, and there was no way that I was going to leave her. I found Christine's room only to find a bed that still lay unoccupied. Liv was sleeping in a chair beside the bed, her jacket awkwardly folded under her head. I put down the coffees on the table, then took off my own jacket placed it over her arms. I had planned to sit in the hall to give her some quiet, but she stirred and opened her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily.

"Ten after two. Go back to sleep."

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "I'm fine." She took the coffee that I extended towards her.

"Have you heard anything?"

She shook her head. "I'm taking that as a good sign for now. Did you find anything at the crime scene?"

"Yeah. We got him."

"Someone in the building?"

"Nicholas Mooney."

"The senior legislative assistant?"

"Yeah."

"But, we talked to him. He. . . I didn't see it."

"Neither of us did." She put her coffee down and for the first time noticed my jacket lying on top of her. She picked it up slowly and stared at it.

"Elliot, tonight. . . what was it?"

"What do you mind?" I asked, pretending I didn't know exactly what she was talking about.

"The dinner?"

I looked over at her. I had no idea how to reply. I brought my chair right up to hers, hoping that somehow she could see what I was thinking. She looked up at me through her thick eyelashes. When it came to analyzing what someone said, I could understand the underlying message. When it came to saying the right things on the stand, the words came easily. When I filled out paperwork or I defended my actions, I could say what needed to be said. But when it came to me as a person, not a police officer, words didn't come easily. I didn't know what to say, and I couldn't seem to say the right thing. So I knew when I couldn't think of the right thing to say, it wouldn't eventually come to me. And that's why, without saying a word, I took my hand and put it over hers. She looked surprised, but never broke her gaze from me. She slowly turned her hand over, palm up, and snaked her fingers towards mine. I followed and laced my fingers through hers.

No words were needed. None at all.

"Detectives?"

We both looked up and snatched our hands back. The emergency doctor was standing at the door. I quickly stood up, Liv following closely.

"What happened?" she asked.

"She made it through the surgery. The damage was a little more extensive than we had originally thought, but we managed to repair it. Her lung has been re-inflated and while she was under, we managed to put a plate in her foot."

"This sounds good," I said.

"It is good. But the realities of Christine's condition haven't changed."

"Meaning what?" Liv asked.

"She alive. That should be considered a win. But it's likely that she'll never wake up. I'm sorry, Detectives."


	12. Chapter 12

_Elliot_

_Wednesday, February 21_

"How's she doing?" Fin asked me the next morning. I had stayed at the hospital all night, then come back to the station early enough to shower and change before everyone got there.

"No change," I told him softly. "He was processed last night?"

"He's being arraigned this morning. Three counts of rape, two assault, one attempted murder, one assault with a deadly weapon."

"It doesn't matter," I muttered.

"We got him. We did our job."

"We were too late."

"Did they give you the odds?"

I shrugged. "They basically go down every minute she doesn't wake up." I wanted to wash this feeling off of me. I was used to feeling like I was a failure when we couldn't find the guy or the convict the guy. I was used to feeling like a failure even after we managed to convict a perp and I'd catch a glimpse of the victim at sentencing, realizing that it still wasn't over for them. I felt like a failure when I had an eight year old sitting upstairs with me telling me about what their piano teacher did to them, or when a mother cried over her missing infant or after seeing a father fall apart finding out that their high-school daughter was dead. Yeah, there was a lot of failure associated with my job. But usually the arrest was the good part. The _best_ part. The part before the lawyers started making deals or trying to bully the victim, the part when I'd get a chance to tell the perp what I thought of him and find an excuse to rough him up a little. This time it was empty.

"Right in here, Mr. Kressler," I heard Cragen saying behind me, leading Roger Kressler, one of the more heartless criminal defense attorneys we dealt with, into the conference room. He was followed by Nicholas, who was at least now wearing pants, handcuffed, and being dragged by a uniform. Casey followed at a distance behind them, but detoured to come towards me.

"You joining us?" she asked me. I closed the file I had been looking at and quickly made my way in. Kressler and Nicholas had taken one side of the table. Instead of sitting at the final empty seat, I stood off to the side, leaning up against the wall.

"This is getting ridiculous, Casey, even for your office."

She raised her eyebrows. "Meaning?"

"At the risk of being politically incorrect, he's gay. As in not-attracted-to-women-has-a-male-life-partner gay."

"And?"

"So why would he be out _raping_ anyone?"

Casey pulled out a paper from her folder and looked at Nicholas. "You work for Senator Martin?"

"Yes."

"You write his press releases?"

"Yes."

"Then let me remind you of this little release from last year. 'Civil union rights aren't enough. We can let same-sex couples collect each other's pensions and have the same tax benefits, but until the day that we don't make a distinction between a couple with a man married to a man and a couple with a man married to a woman, we won't have equality.' Those are your words, Mr. Mooney?"

"Yes."

"In that case, we question and arrest men married to women all the time for rape. There you go, you're one step closer to equality. Now, can we get on with why you called this meeting?"

"We want to offer you a deal."

She raised her eyebrows, no doubt trying not to smirk. "You're going to offer _me_ a deal?"

"Assault two, three and a third to ten."

"For three counts of rape one and attempted murder?"

"I never tried to hurt her."

"Well, she's in a coma. So from now on, I'd suggest you try a little harder."

"You have to believe me. I love her."

I glared at him. I could see a psych defense coming from miles away.

"You love her?" Casey repeated.

"Yes. That's the only reason that-"

"Quiet," Kressler said, reaching into his briefcase, pulling out a motion.

"What's this?"

"Not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect."

"I didn't want to hurt her. I love her," he repeated.

"You love her?" I asked, taking a step forward. "You love her so you split her head open? You love her so you broke three of her ribs? You love her so you stabbed her in her gut?"

"I didn't know what I was doing!"

"Be quiet," Kressler warned.

"Did you know she was bleeding into her brain?" I took another step forward to lean down against the table, my eyes level against his. "That her lung collapsed? You _love_ her? You're a sick freak, you know that?"

"Take a walk, detective." Damn. Cragen. I glowered at him for a minute longer before I got up and brushed past him. I kept walking all the way into the locker room. I looked around, then when I saw it was empty, sat down with my head in my hands.

"You gotta let this go."

I didn't look up. I knew it was bad if Cragen had come into the locker room. I didn't fully understand why it was bothering me so much. Maybe it wasn't the case at all. Things with Liv had been completely intertwined with this case from the very beginning, and once again, I found myself unable to separate my personal feelings from my work.

"You were at the hospital all night?"

I raised my head but didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah."

"In that case, you've been working for more than 24 hours straight and in direct violation of union regulations."

"Cap-"

"Go to the crib and get some sleep, or go home and get some sleep. I don't care, but if you don't leave here now, you're disobeying a direct order."

I started to argue, but then quickly stopped. I was quickly running out of steam, and I was having trouble stomaching the idea of spending all day dealing with paperwork and trial preparation. I went back to my desk, packed up a couple of files I half-heartedly intended to look at later, and left.

* * *

_Rick_

I looked up from my laptop, hoping against hope that I would see some difference. I had memorized the timing of the beeps on her machines, and I knew when something was going wrong. The doctor had taken out the machine that was breathing for her, and she had managed to breathe on her own- a very good sign- but hadn't been able to wake up. She was in the ICU, and they were taking really good care of her, but it still felt like there should have been something more that they could have done. This never happened on TV. Patients always miraculously woke up despite all the odds. No one ever had to wait.

I had called the university in the morning, but they had insisted that I go in for the seminar group that I led. I had gone home long enough to shower, change, and pick up my laptop, taught the seminar, and had come back to the hospital to find that there was no change. Detective Benson had finally left after I assured her that I wouldn't leave Christine's side, and I had tried to sit down to do some work. I wasn't getting much done.

Finally, I decided for a distraction. I opened an internet explorer window to get into my e-mail account. After what had happened last night, I had sent e-mails to each of my sisters, checking up on each of them, making sure that they were okay. I got onto the yahoo homepage, but before I could sign in, one of the headlines caught my eye.

_Senator Martin's assistant arrested in Columbia student's attack._

What?

I was going to click on it when one of the video headlines jumped out at me. In the display picture, Nicholas Mooney was shown with a microphone stuck in his face. I knew the guy. I had worked under him when I had volunteered on the Senator's re-election campaign, and had met him a couple of times since at various Democrat events.

_Mooney apologizes, explains his actions._

What the hell?

_He_ was the one?

What the hell?

Before I had a chance to click on either of the links, the steady beat that I had gotten used to changed. It sped up to an irregular beat. I snapped my computer shut and put it on the table beside me, then got up to see what was happening. Christine was stirring slightly, with her breathing becoming heavy and laboured. I pressed the call button on her wall. Almost immediately, a doctor appeared.

"What's going on?" she asked, picking up the chart that sat at the foot of her bed.

"I don't know. She just started-"

"Quiet," she told me harshly, putting her stethoscope against Christine's chest. She glanced down at her chart, then looked at me. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. If you go to the waiting room down the hall, I'll let you know when I've got news."

I nodded but couldn't take my eyes off of her. Behind me, I more people come into the room. One of them took over for the doctor, who came over to me.

"Sir," she told me calmly, putting her hand on my forearm, "I need you to leave. I'll let you know if there's anything." When I still didn't move, she started pushing me gently towards the door. The beeping on one of her machines was getting louder. She pushed me again, and I obeyed. I stood in the hallway for a minute, completely unable to move, then finally took off towards the waiting room that she had directed me to. It was empty. I took a deep breath, looked around, and threw my fist into the wall.

* * *

_Olivia_

I was more than a little surprised when I stopped by the station and Cragen told me that Elliot had gone home. Cragen explained that he had been sent home on orders, and then proceeded to order me to do the same thing. I argued, but he wasn't going to hear it this time.

I was exhausted and working on autopilot. I parked my car and made my way up without the doorman even acknowledging my existence. I got into the elevator and leaned back. My neck was sore from the position I had fallen asleep in, and I was still wearing the clothes I had been in the night before. I sighed. He had seen me like this a thousand times before, what difference would 1001 make?

I knocked softly at his door, doubting for the first time that I should be there. If Elliot had actually come home when Cragen told him to, he was probably actually sleeping. Regardless, a minute later I heard footsteps inside.

He didn't look surprised to see me. He stepped aside to let me in and closed the door behind him. I still wasn't used to him in an apartment. I had known him from the beginning as Elliot Stabler, the family man with that slightly overcrowded home in Queens. To see him living alone in an apartment still seemed out of place. "Any change?" he asked.

"Sorry?"

"In Christine. Is there any change?"

I shook my head. "No change when I left." He nodded and made his way into the small kitchen and reappeared with two beers. He handed one to me and motioned towards the couch. I took a seat towards one end, the way I always did when we sat together. He didn't take the end furthest away, instead sitting down almost right beside me. My leg touched his. There were literally hundreds of times we'd either gone out for a beer together after work, or when we'd ended up at one of our apartments. But now everything was different. Now that he was sitting right beside me. Now that I was acutely aware of his arm brushing against mine every time he inhaled. Now that I was afraid to take a sip of my beer for fear of him seeing me shaking.

"Did you see the news?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "I've been asleep. Why?"

"He held a press conference. He claims that he was in love with her and was suffering from erotomania. He mentions her and her case by name."

"And she was desperate for no one to ever find out."

"Yeah."

He rested his right hand on his knee, leaving his pinky casually touching my leg. I felt sparks shoot through my body. I tried to stop it, but my breath caught in my throat. Elliot noticed. He put his beer down, then pivoted his body towards me. Slowly, achingly slowly, he brought his hand up and pushed my bangs back from my forehead.

"I'm afraid this might be a mistake," I whispered.

"Maybe," he agreed softly, slowly, never taking his hand away. "But I think it's more of a mistake if we never see what this could be. This isn't going to go away just because we want it to."

I wanted to kiss him. I _needed_ to kiss him. Now that I felt like it was okay for us to try and be together, I felt everything I had to have been repressing for months, possibly even years, finally surfacing. It was unlike any feeling I'd ever had before. I brought my lips towards his, and heard my cell phone ring from inside my jacket.

"Ignore it," he whispered. I did, and our lips finally met. It was a kiss, a real kiss, not just a foreplay kind of kiss, but the kind of first kiss that made you weak in the knees kiss. His mouth was warm and soft, everything I had been waiting for and wanting for so long. A cell phone rang again, this time from the table in front of us. I intended to ignore it as well, but I couldn't help but pull away.

"Is your phone playing Sexyback?" I asked slowly.

He groaned. "That was Dickie's idea. That each of them should get their own ringtone for when they called me. That's Maureen." He picked up his cell and opened it. "Hi Sweetheart."

He took off with his phone into the kitchen, and I heard my own phone ring again. I reached over the end of the sofa to where my jacket had fallen and pulled my own phone out.

"Benson."

"Sorry about that," Elliot apologized, coming out from the kitchen. He saw me on my phone and stopped immediately.

"I'll be right there," I assured Cragen. "Thanks for calling."

"What's going on?" Elliot asked once I had snapped my phone shut.

"Christine's awake."

We both quickly got our jackets. He picked up his gun, wallet, and phone, all of which he had left beside the door, and I smoothed down my hair.

"Wait," he told me before I had a chance to open the door. "Look, we keep getting stuck in this limbo of being interrupted and leaving everything unresolved. I don't want to do that this time. I know that our jobs complicate things, but this time. . . I want to be with you."

* * *

_Rick_

I broke two knuckles and needed three stitches. A nurse who was passing by when I put my fist through the wall had been nice enough to not only to call maintenance before someone else saw it and called security, but had also started a chart for me and pushed me to the front of the ER line. The doctor had injected me with Lidocaine to do the stitches, but I had refused any more painkillers. It was an intense pain, the kind of pain that kept you from thinking too hard about anything other than how much it hurt. And the pain in my hand was so much more pleasant than dealing with everything else that was going on. Eventually the throbbing intensity subsided though, and I was stuck back in the waiting room. Doctors were still crowding her room, and I felt myself slowly building up to running my newly bandaged hand back into the wall.

Instead, I got up and went back downstairs to the gift shop. I couldn't think of anything appropriate to get her. I didn't want to get her flowers. I knew she loved bright colours, but I didn't know which her favourite was. I knew that she read The Economist religiously, but I didn't want to bring it to her if I didn't know if she would be able to read with one of her eyes swollen shut. That put all magazines and books out. I wandered around the shop, finding nothing that I could think of for her. Finally, beside the door sat life-sized stuffed puppy. It was supposed to be a Chocolate Lab, the same as the dog Christine had said she had bought. I paid for it at the counter, than slowly made my way back up. There was only one doctor in her room this time that I could see from the open door. The same doctor who had first come in. Her glance caught me, and she came into the hall to see me.

"Is she okay?"

"She's awake. She's still fairly unclear about the events of the attack, which is to be expected. She became extremely panicked when she started to try and piece things together to the point where we had to give her some Diazepam to calm her down."

"Can I see her?"

"Keep in mind that she's fairly groggy and that your presence might upset her. If she starts getting agitated, you need to leave."

"Okay," I quickly agreed. "Thanks." I took a deep breath and just barely stepped into the doorway, knocking gently against the open door. She turned her head slightly to see me. The beeping on her machine sped up.

"Can I come in?"

She nodded and reached for her bed's remote with her good arm to move herself into a slightly more upright position. Her left eye was completely swollen shut and her right wrist was in a half-cast. Her arms were covered in finger sized bruises, both her bottom and top lips had been split open, and a huge purple bruise extended over the length of her jaw on the left side. I slowly went over to her right side so she could see me properly. To my surprise, she reached out her hand to me. Despite her sprain, she managed to squeeze my fingers tightly.

"I remember thinking that I was going to die," she said softly. Her voice was hoarse and sounded. . . vulnerable? Could a voice sound vulnerable? "That I was going to die and that would be it. There wouldn't be anyone to know I was gone." Out of the corner of her open eye, I saw a tear roll down her cheek. This scared me more than anything else. I'd never seen Christine cry before. Even come close to crying. I squeezed her hand back. She quickly used her other hand to wipe the tear away, but it was no use. She was crying for what I was willing to bet was the first time since she had been raped.

"I can't do this anymore, Rick," she whispered.

"Do what?"

"Deal with this. Any of this. It's just. . . it's just too much."

If I had asked her or offered anything, she would have refused. I walked around to the other side of the bed and kicked off my shoes. I knew I wouldn't be allowed, and I wasn't even sure that this was what she wanted, but it was the only thing I could think of to comfort her. I climbed into the bed with her, carefully staying on top of her blankets and as close to the edge as possible without falling out. To my surprise, she rolled over to me and rested her head on my chest. I slid my arm around her shoulders and she brought her arm to rest on me. She was smaller than she had been only a few months ago. Coupled with the injuries and wires coming out of her, I felt like she was going to break.

"I can't do this anymore," she repeated, she shoulders starting to shake beneath my arm. It took me a minute to realize that she was sobbing. Slowly, I brought my hand up to stroke her hair, then kissed the top of her head.

"It's over," I promised her. "They got him. It's over."

This only made her cry harder. She gripped my shirt with her bad hand. In the doorway, I saw the nurse who had helped me earlier. She evaluated the situation, then seemed to decide against telling me I wasn't allowed in bed with her.

"It's over," I told her again. I didn't have the heart to tell her that if the news that was plastered all over the internet was any indication, nothing was over. Not by a long shot.


End file.
